


The Best Medicine

by Russ (Quasar)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teen Crush, Zero-gravity sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 46,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Qui-Gon is badly wounded in a pirate attack, Obi-Wan must convince him that sex is the best medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2000.

"An ice freighter?" Obi-Wan said doubtfully as they stepped aboard the transport that would be carrying them to Bristeetst for their next mission. "Why are we traveling on an ice freighter?" He shifted the two packs that hung from his shoulders.

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice assessingly, wondering if he should carry his own luggage. But Obi-Wan was 19, no longer a mere stripling overburdened by a heavy load. The younger Jedi would never be tall, but he had reached his full height a few years ago and was beginning to fill out into a muscular young man, well able to manage an everyday burden. Qui-Gon aborted his helpful gesture and looked away. "Is a mere freighter too humble for you, Padawan?" 

Obi-Wan threw him an exasperated look. "Of course not, Master. I don't expect the Council to send us out on luxury liners. But isn't a freighter rather a slow way to get somewhere? Especially when it's towing a full load." 

Qui-Gon led the way down a corridor of the ship, looking for the living quarters. "We're attending an inaugural celebration this time, not a planetary crisis. There's no need to hurry."

"I suppose not," Obi-Wan conceded.

Qui-Gon glanced over his shoulder, pleased to see his Padawan's expression softening from dissatisfaction to resignation and then to a more approriate acceptance. "I'm sure the Jedi Council will be relieved to hear that you concur with their decision." 

Obi-Wan dropped his gaze in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to question the assignment. I'm just . . . a bit puzzled." 

Qui-Gon stopped and turned to face the student. "If there is something you don't understand, Padawan, perhaps you should give it closer consideration. Has it occurred to you that there might be a reason for this particular transport assignment?" 

"That there might _be_ one, yes," said Obi-Wan with a rueful quirk of his lips. "The reason itself eludes me, however."

"Then use your brain. Why is an ice freighter going to Bristeetst in the first place?"

"Because they need water," Obi-Wan returned promptly. At Qui-Gon's expectant nod, he continued. "Their sun is quite old -- nearly ten billion years, isn't it? Most of the comets in the system have long since burned away or fallen into the sun. There's only the one habitable planet, and it doesn't have enough water to support all the orbital habitats the Bristeen have built. So, they ship the ice in from other Republic systems." 

"Very good. And what of the other inhabited systems in the vicinity of Bristeetst?" 

Obi-Wan looked blank. Apparently his pre-mission research hadn't gone that far. "Most of them aren't members of the Republic," he said carefully.

"True. What else?"

"Well . . . they're all part of the same star cluster. Oh, _I_ see. All the stars in that cluster are just as old! So none of them have much ice."

"Precisely. Water is a very valuable commodity in the Cordeen cluster. And that means . . ." 

"Pirates!" said Obi-Wan with a certain relish.

"Pirates," he agreed, taking note of the younger man's reaction. The satisfaction he sensed was not simply relief at finding the right answer; Obi-Wan had a definite air of anticipation about him. For an apprentice, the young man was extremely good with a lightsaber, and he took great enjoyment in challenges to his skill. Obi-Wan's favorite was a battle against odds that would have been overwhelming for anyone but a Jedi. 

Qui-Gon had also seen his apprentice's reaction after a battle, however, and he knew that the boy wasn't truly bloodthirsty. Obi-Wan preferred to cut droids into pieces rather than kill sentient beings. Unfortunately, not all of a Jedi's opponents were wealthy enough to buy battle droids. Ice pirates, being a notably scruffy lot, were more likely to chivvy slaves into battle than to spend money on expensive fighting machines. Qui-Gon saw this realization come to his student, and Obi-Wan's eagerness was dimmed somewhat by a thoughtful frown. 

"Pirates," repeated a whistling voice from further down the corridor. They turned to find the ship's captain regarding them with bright eyes under a crest of blue feathers. "The last three ice shipments made it to Bristeetst with less than a tenth of their cargo intact. They were attacked multiple times along the route, usually when they stopped for refueling. One of the ships disappeared altogether -- destroyed or taken, no one knows. This ice is badly needed back home." 

Obi-Wan nodded to her solemnly. "We will do our best to ensure that it arrives intact and on time, Captain Ctecteru."

Her ruffled crest smoothed back at this assurance, and she clacked her beak in agreement. Flirting a few tail-feathers toward the half-fledged youngster at her side, she whistled, "My daughter, Satiirsti."

Qui-Gon bowed. "An honor to meet you, young one."

The fledgling whistled and stepped shyly behind her mother.

"If you're looking for your quarters," the captain trilled, "you will find them on the second hall to the right." She extended a feathery limb. "The door is labeled. And now I must excuse myself -- I have a ship to launch." 

"Of course we don't wish to keep you from your duties, Captain," said Qui-Gon formally. "Thank you for directing us." He bowed again as she passed them and continued along the corridor. 

"Rather blunt for a Bristeen, isn't she?" Obi-Wan murmured.

"By their standards, yes," Qui-Gon agreed. "For a freighter captain, on the other hand, she's astonishingly polite." He led the way along the corridor again, checking the signs on the doors they passed. "You've never piloted a freighter of this type, have you, Padawan?" 

There was a pause. "No, Master," Obi-Wan admitted, and clearly audible in his voice was a faint horror that anyone might ever ask him to direct such a lumbering hulk.

Qui-Gon hid a smile as he keyed open the door to the cabin they had been assigned. "Then after you have unpacked our belongings, you should go up to the bridge and start learning the controls. After all, if there _is_ a pirate attack, one of us might have to fly this thing." 

"Yes, Master," said Obi-Wan in a stifled tone.

"Be sure to hang our formal robes carefully before you go, though. We mustn't let them wrinkle."

"No, Master. I'm sure the Bristeen would be very distressed by wrinkled robes at their inaugural ceremony."

This time Qui-Gon did smile. "Well, it's natural for an avian race to be concerned with appearances."

Obi-Wan relaxed a little at that, chuckling as he opened Qui-Gon's pack. "You realize, they only requested Jedi to witness their ceremony because they like beings that can fly. Or at least levitate." 

"Well, it's good for interplanetary relations if they can find a way to relate to humans," said Qui-Gon mildly. He headed for the door. "I'm going to have a look round, see if there are any good places for us to exercise. After all, we will be on this ship nearly three weeks. Call me if you need me." 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed and bent to his work, glancing around at the cramped quarters. "Three _weeks_?" he murmured despairingly.

Qui-Gon pretended he hadn't heard.


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan sailed through the air, turning a lazy somersault as he moved. At just the right moment, he straightened his body and reached out one hand to catch the wooden bar he was about to pass beneath. Holding the rough wood lightly to avoid splinters, he let his momentum carry him up and around, then started to fall towards another perch several meters below. Broad leaves slapped gently at his face as he flew by. 

Since ice loads were towed outside of the ship and much of the freighter's interior cargo space was unneeded, one of the holds had been made into a recreational area for the crew. Flying being a favorite Bristeen pastime, the hold was fitted out with a faux forest containing various fat "branches" at suitable intervals, with screens of synthetic leaves to give an illusion of privacy and make short flights more interesting. The ship's gravity had been adjusted to barely half of galactic standard, the same as the gravity in the Bristeen orbital habitats. It was a lower gravity even than the Bristeen homeworld where the avians had evolved -- of course, they had lost the capacity for flight in their native gravity around the same time they were evolving intelligence. It was hardly surprising that they had designed their spaceborne homes to allow them to regain the illusion of flight.

When he reached the lower branch, having picked up some speed, Obi-Wan let himself rotate around it two full times before shooting off on a tangent, curled into a tight ball so that he would spin faster. He enjoyed this game quite a bit; he could understand why the Bristeen, with bodies that were _almost_ designed for flight, would find it irresistible. He was looking forward to the inaugural celebration, where he would be responsible for making an exciting visual display while his master did most of the talking. He wondered if Qui-Gon had volunteered for this mission in recognition of his padawan's enjoyment of athletic display in general and acrobatics in particular. Obi-Wan had worked for years to conceal his unseemly tendency towards showmanship, but of course Qui-Gon wouldn't have been fooled.

Obi-Wan caught another branch and changed direction once more, this time spreading arms and legs and letting his loose tunic flap around him, trying out the illusion of wings the maneuver produced. Qui-Gon had granted him permission to spend the morning practicing his moves for the inauguration, since Obi-Wan had already learned all he could about the mechanics and control systems of the ship. They had completed their first refueling stop two days earlier, without incident, and now there was nothing to do but wait for the next time the ship was vulnerable. _Wait_ for a Jedi meant study, and meditate, and exercise. The exercise was Obi-Wan's favorite part. 

In this light gravity, it took only a slight Force assist to make impressive leaps, spins, and landings. That was just as well, since they had limited access to the Force at the moment. The ship was in hyperspace, cut off from contact with the rest of the galaxy. The Living Force still pulsed vibrantly in each of the crew and passengers, but there was a limited supply of the ambient Unifying Force available for use -- only what was left over from the ship's last visit to normal space, and the surplus given off by the living beings on board. If Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan should have reason to undertake a major working with the Force, they would need to wait for a return to normal space. Unless, of course, they wanted to turn to the Dark Side and draw directly on the Living Force, sapping the life energy from the crew around them. But Obi-Wan had been taught all his life to resist the reflexive reaching out for that rich energy source. The Living Force was to be heeded as a guide, not drawn upon even in the direst need. 

"It's like gathering fuel wood in the forest," one of the Docents had said when Obi-Wan was still in the creche. "If you cut down a single tree and chop it up, that alone would be enough to provide heat for half a season -- but in doing so you would kill the tree and unbalance the ecology of the forest. Instead, you must use deadwood from the forest floor, though it means seeking farther even for a little fuel."

To Obi-Wan, who had lived most of his life at the Temple on urban Coruscant, the analogy had made little sense at the time. But he remembered it, and saw the sense of it many years later, when his missions with Qui-Gon took him to worlds poor in technology. 

The branch Obi-Wan was falling toward was an especially rough one that had given him a splinter earlier. He used a breath of Force to reverse his body, and met the branch with his boots, springing off with a push that would take him up to the top of the hold. 

He had performed gymnastic exercises similar to these at the Temple, in the heavier gravity of Coruscant. He never did them alone there, but made sure he had a partner or a spotter each time. He hadn't dared to do it alone since the time early in his apprenticeship when he had fallen and broken his wrist.

He grinned wryly as he recalled how Qui-Gon had discovered the injury even though he tried to hide it. He'd been so proud of himself for healing the wrist on his own, and doing such a thorough job that it only twinged a little if he turned it this way or that. But he found it hard to avoid turning the wrist in the course of everyday motion, and Qui-Gon had noticed his tiny flinch as he was cutting his food at the evening meal. 

"What did you do to your hand?" Qui-Gon asked, holding out his own hand imperatively. 

Obi-Wan extended his arm without reluctance. "It's my wrist. I fell a bit hard in the salle earlier. But I already healed it almost completely." He watched while his master inspected his handiwork with eyes, fingers, and Force.

Qui-Gon stood up. "Come, Padawan. We need to visit the healers."

Obi-Wan looked down at his plate. Even if he hadn't entirely finished the healing on his own, it was hardly a life-threatening injury. "Can't I finish my dinner first?" 

Qui-Gon gave him a faintly exasperated look. "They'll have to re-break that wrist for you. Do you want that done on a full stomach?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and pushed the plate away from him.

Qui-Gon delivered a lecture on their way to the healers' wing of the Temple. "You must realize, Padawan, that there is more to healing a wound than simply pouring the Force into it. The chemical and cellular components of healing -- what the body would naturally carry out on its own -- those can be accelerated by a judicious application of Force. Even the processes of fighting infection can be helped along that way. But there is also a mechanical aspect to healing, which must be attended to first. Setting a bone is one example; reconnecting severed nerves and blood vessels in the case of a deep cut or saber wound is another. By not ensuring that the bones were aligned properly, you caused them to heal in the wrong position, and you compounded that error when you used the Force to speed the healing. This is why initiates and padawans are not to attempt self-healing without the guidance of a healer or at least a master. Not until you've had the seminar on battlefield healing techniques, in any case."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "That course was offered the last time we were here at the Temple, but I didn't have a chance to attend it between missions."

"Perhaps I should have made time." Qui-Gon sighed. "I can ask one of the healers to instruct you in some of the basics, anyway. I trust this will prove a valuable lesson to you in the future." 

Years later, dancing from branch to branch in a vaulted cargo hold, Obi-Wan remembered the incident and smiled. He had gotten his lessons in battlefield healing, and they had proven invaluable on more than one occasion. He still wasn't as skilled as Qui-Gon at some of the finer techniques, but --

The ship groaned around him, and the branch he was reaching for shifted out of his way with a shudder.

Obi-Wan realized at once that something had jarred the ship; he, being airborne, had simply continued on his original path while the rest of the ship moved around him. He let himself float down through the leaves toward the floor of the cargo hold, using the Force to slow his fall until he could land lightly, poised for trouble.

He felt the familiar blurring in the Force and the sudden _snap_ back into focus that came with a return to normal space. But they had already completed their first refueling two days ago and weren't scheduled for another stop for five more days. Why had they dropped out of hyperspace between star systems?

Then he heard and felt a series of sharp _clangs_ through the ship's hull. A whining, grating sound was followed by an explosive bang, and a slight change in pressure troubled his eardrums. 

They were being boarded -- by way of a hole cut in the hull rather than a proper airlock. It could only mean one thing: pirates.


	3. Chapter 3

Obi-Wan hurried out of the cargo hold, reaching out instinctively through the Force. His telepathic skills weren't entirely reliable -- when calm, he could usually get it right, but when he tensed up his messages sometimes got weaker and sometimes stronger. So he merely sent an interrogative pulse along the bond he shared with his master. The answer he received was immediate: an impression that Qui-Gon was engaged in fighting, and the clear command _Get to the bridge. Repel boarders._

He ran easily down the freighter's long corridors, his strides long and bounding in the low gravity. He kept his lightsaber in hand but not lit -- until a blaster bolt came winging out at him as he crossed a side-passage. In an instant his blade was activated, and the bolt returned to its sender. A raw, high-pitched squeal told him that at least some of the pirates were Gamorrean.

More fire came at him from three or four different attackers in concealed positions. He worked his way down the side corridor, returning the bolts as nearly as he could to their sources -- if possible, he preferred to render their blasters useless rather than hitting actual people. But more squeals filled the narrow corridor as his return strikes injured hands and arms. Only one Gamorrean was still firing, with a blaster in each hand, when Obi-Wan reached their position. He cut one blaster in half and lopped off part of a hand with the other one. 

Glancing around, he saw no attackers remaining in any shape to fight, so he started to backpedal down the corridor. Muffled sounds indicated fighting elsewhere on the ship, and a tendril of thought extended toward Qui-Gon told him the older Jedi was extremely preoccupied at the moment. Obi-Wan turned and started to run again.

But if the Gamorreans he had just encountered no longer had any working blasters, they were not entirely weaponless. A flicker of danger-sense warned him in time to dodge a shock grenade aimed at his head. He freed one hand from his saber and gestured, using the physical motion to guide his Force-push as he caught the grenade and sent it flying back where it had come from. He was around the corner before it went off.

His ears stunned by the compression wave from the grenade, he almost didn't make out the muted sound of another explosion elsewhere on the ship. It was only when the blast door at the end of the corridor slammed down in the blink of an eye, cutting him off, that Obi- Wan realized someone on the ship was using _real_ explosives -- the kind that could cause real damage to the ship instead of merely stunning people as shock grenades would. Fire warnings began to toll down the hallways.

Obi-Wan had to stop at the blast door and open the control panel in order to tap in the all-clear, feeling grateful that Qui-Gon had made him learn all the ship's control sequences. On the other side of the door, he paused long enough to close it behind him before jogging along to the next blast door. There should only be two more between this position and the bridge, he calculated as he pried at the cover for the control panel.

In the next corridor, he found Qui-Gon with two of the crew bearing blasters. The master spun around to face Obi-Wan's approach, frowning intently above his green blade. His robe, which he hadn't taken the time to shed, was scored on the sleeve by blaster fire. But he relaxed and extinguished his saber as he recognized his apprentice.

"I'm not late for the party, am I?" Obi-Wan said cheerfully as he studied the collection of dead and injured Gamorreans littering the area.

"It's not over yet," Qui-Gon returned grimly. "We've got to get to the bridge. They're trying to take control of the ship. These brigands won't be content with carving a few chunks off the cargo -- they want the whole thing." 

"How did they bring us out of hyperspace?" Obi-Wan asked as they started down the penultimate stretch to the bridge, the avian crewmembers following nervously at their backs.

"Towed a small asteroid into our path, I expect," Qui-Gon said, pausing to work on the controls for the next set of blast doors. "It would be easy enough to predict our route, and if they picked something with just the right mass they wouldn't have to worry about disrupting other shipping -- this ice freighter is the biggest thing likely to come this way." 

Of course! The freighter's own mass made it more sensitive to gravity wells; it was one reason why large freighters always had the most expensive navi-computers and updated them at every stop. And this particular ship, with its long tail of enormous ice chunks harvested from some system's outer moons, was especially vulnerable. Asteroids that a small courier ship or luxury liner might fly past unnoticing were enough to pull this behemoth right out of hyperspace. 

Having passed and re-closed the blast doors, Qui-Gon paused just outside of the crew's mess hall. His head tilted as if he were listening for something. Obi-Wan could hear nothing, and rubbed at his ears, wondering if he was still a little deafened by that shock grenade.

"Don't you feel it?" Qui-Gon asked. "They're right beneath us."

Obi-Wan had lost track of the Living Force again, but when he opened his senses it was clear: a large group of angry life-forms in the corridor directly below. "What should we do?"

"You go on to the bridge. I'll circle around behind them, and we can trap them between us." Qui-Gon lit his saber and turned back down the corridor, but at that moment a small figure darted out of the mess-hall doorway and hurried toward the last set of blast doors protecting the bridge. "Satiirsti!" Qui-Gon yelled. "Get back here! It's not safe."

The youngster paid no attention, obviously terrified and determined to reach her mother. Qui-Gon started after her.

Obi-Wan's danger sense was peaking again. "Master, wait!" He concentrated briefly on the pirates below them, and realized with alarm that they were retreating in a hurry after they had gathered in a huddle just . . . about . . . 

"Qui-Gon, get down!" Obi-Wan shouted as he felt the explosion about to happen. His master couldn't fail to feel it also, but kept after the little Bristeen girl. At the last moment, Qui-Gon grabbed her and swung her behind him, starting to drop down --

Gouts of flame and shrapnel burst upward as the pirates' explosives went off. Obi-Wan was thrown back, trying to protect the crewmembers behind him as he sprawled awkwardly on the deck. 

After the explosion, Obi-Wan opened his eyes to darkness. For a moment, he thought he'd been blinded -- then he realized he could still see the emergency lights at the end of the hall flashing a red fire warning. Some of the power conduits for this corridor must have been interrupted by the explosion.

"Master?" He groped around for his lightsaber. "Qui-Gon?" There -- the red lights gleamed off a cylinder amid the debris just in front of him. He could make out Qui-Gon's crumpled form a few meters short of the new hole in the decking. And he could just barely discern the blunt-snouted head that poked up through that new hole.

"Get back!" Obi-Wan growled menacingly as he scooped up the lightsaber and rushed the pirate. But the hilt felt wrong in his hand, too large and too smooth, and it didn't ignite when he told it to . . .

It was Qui-Gon's lightsaber. Obi-Wan had held it before, and his master had shown him the sequence needed to activate it. He had only to press the button and shift an internal switch with the Force, like so . . . . He hesitated, turning to look behind him for his own saber. He couldn't use Qui-Gon's weapon!

But the Gamorrean had seen him coming and was raising a blaster in his direction. Obi-Wan dodged the first shot and ignited the green blade instinctively, intercepting the second bolt. The Gamorrean took her own returned fire directly in the face, and fell back through the hole with a shriek.

But there were more behind the first one. And Qui-Gon was lying helpless on the deck, unresponsive to a quick mind touch. His master was still alive, Obi-Wan knew that much, but he couldn't be sure of the extent of the older man's injuries. He had no intention of leaving his master alone among the enemy.

So he fought. Standing over Qui-Gon's body, in darkness lit only by red warning lights and a green saber, Obi-Wan held the breached corridor against all comers.

The blade was too long for him, and not balanced for his hand; he almost took off his own kneecap as he swung downwards at a pirate trying to come up through the hole. He forced himself to breathe, stay calm, feel the Force flowing through him -- and his master's saber grew easier to manage. 

After he had lopped weapons and body parts off the first four who tried to make it up to his level, the Gamorreans retreated a little. Before they could try another approach, however, blaster fire on their own level drove them back in Obi-Wan's direction. He realized that the crewmembers caught in the explosion with him must have circled back around, as Qui-Gon had been planning to do. Now they had the pirates trapped between them, and all they had to do was wait for the attackers to realize their position was hopeless.

It took a little more than that, of course; Gamorreans were not quite so stupid as popular opinion made them out to be, but they despised the concept of surrender. They made two further attempts to rush Obi-Wan or bring him down with massed blaster fire, until there were none of them left armed and unwounded. At last, a party of avian crewmembers swarmed them and took them prisoner.

Obi-Wan stepped back from the hole and listened carefully. There was no sound of further fighting elsewhere, and the automated fire warnings had stopped. The pirate attack had been turned back.

Only then was Obi-Wan able to turn and assess his master's injuries. Satiirsti was pinned beneath the Jedi master, face half-covered by the brown cloak. From her indignant whistles as she tried to pry the heavy body off her, Obi-Wan concluded that she wasn't seriously hurt.

The pool of blood spreading beneath Qui-Gon's form was another matter. Black and oily-looking in the light from the saber, it appeared to be coming from Qui-Gon's head.


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, centering and calming himself. He let the beeps and hisses of the medical bay recede from his mind. Then, exhaling slowly, he reached out with the Force and carefully pulled on the fragments of skull that were pressing in on Qui-Gon's brain. Three segments as big as his thumb and many smaller splinters shifted under his gentle mind-touch. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of bones traveling under Qui-Gon's battered skin. The pieces would not quite mesh into place; he didn't have the perfect control that was needed to move tiny objects so precisely. But he could feel the pressure easing as he pulled the fragments away to something approximating a normal position.

As he released his control and began to breathe normally again, Obi-Wan extended his senses to the fragile tissues beneath the damaged area of Qui-Gon's forehead. The soft layers seemed to be intact, though bruised and somewhat displaced by the trauma from the large chunk of decking that had ripped into the left side of Qui-Gon's face as he tried to turn away from the explosion.

On the opposite side of the medical pallet, a droid whirred a scanner across the Jedi master's head. "Remarkable," it droned. "I didn't realize such a thing was possible without surgery or micro-tractors."

"Did that help?" Obi-Wan asked, a little shakily.

"Oh, yes. The intracranial pressure is already decreasing. There's still some excess fluid in the affected area, but I've ensured that it will drain soon. He should regain consciousness within a few hours. Are you certain I shouldn't be giving him anything for pain? My data on human physiology --" 

"I'm sure they're very extensive, TM40," Obi-Wan interrupted, "but it's different for a Jedi. Master Qui-Gon and I will deal with the pain when he awakens." He rubbed at his own eyes. "You've never worked with Jedi before, I take it."

"Correct. Neither as a patient or an assistant. I wish I had time to learn more about your methods, if this is an example. Can you do the same with the bone fragments in the rest of his face?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, forcing himself to look unflinchingly at Qui-Gon's shattered brow and cheekbone. "The pieces are too small, and there are so many of them. My control isn't that good. Qui-Gon might be able to do it himself, but it would take a great deal of time and . . . concentration." And Force, which wouldn't be available once they were in hyperspace again. Obi-Wan frowned.

"I see. Unfortunately, I do not have the tools required for such fine surgery, either. And I must see to my other patients, now that your friend's condition is stable." 

Obi-Wan stared at the droid incredulously. "You mean that's all you're going to do for him?"

The droid bowed its head slightly. "I have eased the pressure on his brain, removed several pieces of shrapnel, sealed the worst of his lacerations, and taken precautions against infection -- that is all I can do at this time without neglecting my other patients. The only serious danger that remains is to his eye." 

"His eye -- you mean he might go blind?" Obi-Wan was appalled. He should have guessed, seeing the rest of the damage in that area, but he'd been so relieved to find Qui-Gon's eyelid and eyeball intact that he hadn't investigated further. 

"He is already blind in that eye, since the nerves have been severed. They can be reattached by any reputable surgeon at our next stop, along with the reconstruction of the rest of your friend's face. However, many of the blood vessels that feed the eye were also compromised. If the tissue begins to die, the eye will have to be removed. But there is still the possibility of regeneration or prosthesis." 

Regeneration, which took months -- or a prosthetic, which all Jedi disdained because it could disrupt the connection with the Force. "Is this likely to happen within the next few days?" Obi-Wan asked. Five days until they reached their next stop -- longer, given that the lumbering freighter still had to get up to speed before entering hyperspace. And they hadn't even started moving yet!

"It's possible. I will have to check the eye regularly for necrosis. Excuse me now -- crewman Trecteeks is in need of my attention." 

Obi-Wan dropped his head onto the edge of Qui-Gon's pallet, groping blindly for his master's still hand. Not for the first time, he cursed the lack of a bacta tank in this medical bay -- though it would have been an absurd expense, considering that the freighter carried a crew of no more than thirty. It would certainly have come in useful on this occasion, however, and not only for Qui-Gon's sake; three of the Bristeen crew had been injured in the attack, although none so severely as the Jedi. The ship's medical droid was apparently also from the low end of the cost scale, if it didn't have micro-tractors suited for fine surgincal repair.

And it would be the better part of a week before they reached civilization again. Unless . . . Obi-Wan considered going to the captain. He could ask her to drop the cargo. Without the millions of tons of ice towed behind, the freighter could probably make the nearest system in a day or two. He could tell her that Qui-Gon would die if he didn't get proper treatment soon. 

But that would be a lie. Qui-Gon's life was no longer in danger -- only his vision, and his good looks. And that cargo of ice, after all, was what the Jedi were supposed to be protecting. It was badly needed at Bristeetst. Qui-Gon would no doubt call it vanity to abandon such a precious cargo for the sake of avoiding a few scars. He might even prefer to keep those scars as a reminder of this mission, just as Master Piell had done. 

Shuddering at the thought, Obi-Wan threw his senses into his master's body once again, trying to trace the damage the droid had described. He realized quickly that fragments of the shattered cheekbone had pushed up behind the eye and had in fact punctured the rear portions of the eyeball. The severed nerve bundle was glaringly obvious. Obi-Wan might even be able to reattach the nerve himself, with some hours of deep-trance work. But he grew lost when he tried to follow the myriad tiny blood vessels that fed the eye with life. He could sense that many of them were closed and dying, but exactly where the damage had been done was unclear. There were too many cuts, displaced shards of bone, and swollen tissues throughout the entire area; Obi-Wan would never be able to fix all of it.

He opened his eyes and brushed a finger down the undamaged right half of Qui-Gon's face, trying to ignore the livid bruises and cuts on the disfigured other half. He could feel consciousness barely beginning to return, a stirring along their bond. Shunting his worst fears off to a corner of his mind, he reached out to his master.

Qui-Gon wandered in a vague world of smoke and darkness lit only by flashing red lights. He turned as Obi-Wan entered the dream, smiling in relief. His face in the dream-world was whole and clean, making Obi-Wan's heart ache. "Obi-Wan, good. I'm looking for the way back to --"

"It's all right, Master. You don't need to worry about it yet. Stay here a while longer." 

"The pirates . . ."

"All killed or captured. The attack was beaten off. The ship is safe, Satiirsti is safe, I am unhurt. Your injuries were the worst; we are trying to deal with them now. You're better off staying asleep for the moment."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows went up with curiosity, but he didn't ask about the extent of his injuries. "Should I start a healing trance?"

"Not just yet. Rest and gather your strength. I'll be there when you wake."

Qui-Gon's mouth quirked. "Whatever you say, Padawan." He settled to the misty ground in a posture of meditation. "But I will be expecting an explanation." 

"Yes, Master. Just rest for now." Obi-Wan let himself fade out of the dream, returning to the medbay only to find himself sitting uselessly with Qui-Gon's hand in his own. 

He would have liked to ease his master into a healing trance, letting the Force soothe his pains -- but as Qui-Gon had taken such care to teach him years before, the mechanical healing had to come first. And mechanically, Qui-Gon's face was far from intact. Starting the healing process now would only set the scars and misshapen bones as they were, and the crushed blood vessels feeding the eye would atrophy away. Somehow those had to be fixed before Qui-Gon could begin his recovery. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how much good he could do before Qui-Gon awoke, but he had to try. He reached out, gathering the Force around him --

And the ship lurched. There was a brief honk from a decompression alarm, quickly silenced. The freighter's sublight engines began to throb.

They were on the move. Soon enough they would be in hyperspace again, and Obi-Wan would have no chance to use the Force. It wasn't enough time.

Frowning, Obi-Wan stood up. He hesitated a moment, then brushed a kiss onto an uninjured patch of Qui-Gon's forehead. Turning resolutely, he left the medbay and headed for the bridge.


	5. Chapter 5

On the short walk from the medbay to the bridge, Obi-Wan noticed that the blast doors had slammed down again when the decompression warning came through. Crewmembers were opening them and leaving them open, so the danger must be over. Obi-Wan nodded at the Bristeen who were busy sealing a new plate over the hole in the decking, and they flattened their crests at him in respect.

He was glad to find the ship's captain on the bridge, since that meant there were no emergencies elsewhere. He stood back and waited while she discussed something with her pilot, but she turned to him as soon as she noticed his presence.

"Jedi Kenobi!" she whistled. "I must thank you and your master for saving my ship. The pirates sent in three boarding parties by different routes, and you stopped all of them."

Obi-Wan bowed. "No need to thank us, Captain Ctecteru. It was our duty and the will of the Force. Tell me, is your daughter feeling better?"

The captain cocked her head to one side and then the other, a gesture that always looked vaguely like 'No' to Obi-Wan but was really the Bristeen equivalent of a shrug. "She's still frightened, but not badly hurt. There is a hairline fracture in her shoulder -- nothing serious." Fractures were commonplace and easily healed for the light-boned avians. "Master Jinn saved her from being badly injured or killed. I hope he will recover?"

"He will, but the healing will be difficult. The left side of his face was badly injured."

The captain closed her eyes and ducked her head to one side in horrified denial. "Terrible, terrible. Are you saying he will be . . . _asymmetrical_?"

Symmetry was vitally important in the Bristeen sense of aesthetics. There were jokes, of the funny-because-they're-almost-true variety, about Bristeen carefully counting the feathers on each arm and plucking out any that didn't match.

"He might be able to heal completely," Obi-Wan said slowly, "if we have the opportunity to work within the Force." He marshaled his arguments carefully, looking for the best way to lead up to asking that they delay the return to hyperspace. "I noticed the decompression warning. Does that mean we're on our way again?"

"Hmmm, yes -- we sealed the hole the pirates cut through the hull, but there was a small leak we didn't discover until the ships moved apart. All patched up now."

A new thought occurred to Obi-Wan and he was diverted momentarily from his request. "Have you decided what to do with the prisoners?"

"Well, as you know, we have no facilities for keeping them secure. We returned them to their own ship and disabled the engines."

"And you're just leaving them there, in interstellar space?" Obi-Wan was appalled.

"Oh, we'll tell the authorities when we reach the fueling station at Borritt. They can return to these coordinates, pick up the pirates, and tow that asteroid out of the shipping lanes."

Obi-Wan sighed in relief and prepared to return to his own concerns.

"Of course," the captain continued, "we didn't _tell_ the pirates we'd be sending anyone back for them . . ." She let out a long, warbling chuckle, which was echoed by the pilot.

Obi-Wan grimaced at the thought of a ship full of injured Gamorreans, all thinking they had been abandoned in the middle of nowhere with limited supplies. How many would kill themselves or each other before the authorities showed up, in six or seven days? "Call them," he said shortly. "Tell them someone will be returning soon."

"We can't call them," the pirate whistled cheerfully. "We disabled their communications as well."

The captain clacked her beak. "We don't want them calling in more of their thieving friends to save them," she explained.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, preparing to use the Force for mind control if he had to. "In that case, you'll have to turn back."

The captain's crest ruffled. "We can't do that."

"You can't just leave them there thinking they're about to die slow deaths! Some of them are badly hurt."

"They're hurt because they attacked _my_ ship." The captain's voice was brassy, as close to a low growl as a Bristeen could get. "They deserve a few days of fear, not to mention a few years in the mines on Kessel." She paused and visibly calmed herself, lowering her crest a little. "In any case, we can't afford the time it would take to go back. We're already more than twelve hours behind schedule. If we arrive late at Borritt by a full standard day, we'll lose our place in the fuel queue. We could easily be delayed by another three or four days after that, which would affect our next re-fueling stop as well."

Obi-Wan went very still. "I see." A day's delay in their arrival at Bristeetst was no great matter, but five or ten days would make them late for the inaugural celebration. And this water _was_ badly needed.

He closed his eyes and reached out to the Force for guidance. He felt no great presentiment of tragedy, despite the jagged dregs of fear emanating from all over the freighter. Distantly, behind them, he could sense the other ship. Distress was evident, and spikes of pain, but there was no apparent desparation. Someone was in charge, maintaining organization among the Gamorreans. Perhaps they would be all right for a week on their own. Obi-Wan relaxed and opened his eyes, giving the captain a tight smile.

But he couldn't bring up his own request now. He had been about to ask the captain to hold off their entry into hyperspace by a day or so -- but apparently that would be unacceptable. A delay of one day now would become many days before the end of this voyage, which would affect the Jedi's primary mission to attend the inauguration. Qui-Gon would never agree to that.

"When are we due to enter hyperspace?" he asked instead.

"We'll be up to speed in half an hour," the pilot answered. "Just over five days to Borritt, if we push the engines."

Half an hour was hardly more useful to him than no time at all; he wouldn't be able to make much progress in healing Qui-Gon before they were in hyperspace, cut off from the Unifying Force. Only the Living Force of the crew would be available, and they couldn't draw upon it even if they got willing volunteers. The Jedi _could_ legitimately use their own Living Force without danger of turning to the Dark, but to expend their life energy in the service of healing would be self-defeating.

The idea sprang full-blown into Obi-Wan's head. It could work. But how would he ever persuade Qui-Gon?

"Captain." A crewmember had entered the bridge while Obi-Wan was occupied in thought. She bobbed her head at a point midway between him and the captain. "I thought Jedi Kenobi might like to see our new acquisition." She clacked her beak eagerly.

It was the crewwoman who had shown him around the ship's propulsion system and most of the lower decks. Eriskiett was the name he dredged up from the corner of his memory where he had learned to put such things so they wouldn't be lost. She appeared to like him; he wasn't certain whether her aggressive sociability was a personality trait or a form of flirtation.

"Acquisition?" he asked.

"Something we borrowed from the pirates." The captain did her head-tilt shrug once more. "Go ahead and show him, Eriskiett. Unless you had something else to ask me?" She turned back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan gave up his plans of asking her to slow the ship down. "No, I simply wanted to make sure everything is well with the ship," he said. "I should be returning to Master Qui-Gon soon -- that is, after I see whatever Eriskiett wishes to show me." He smiled at the engineer and she ducked her head shyly.

"If there is anything I can do to aid in your master's healing, I hope you will tell me."

'Stay in normal space!' was on Obi-Wan's lips, but all he said was, "Of course." He had his new idea to consider, in any case. Bowing, he followed Eriskiett from the bridge.

The crew in the corridor had finished sealing over the hole blown by the pirates. The lights were back on and the corridor swept clean of debris, but he could still make out a faint stain where Qui-Gon had fallen. With an inward shudder, Obi-Wan stepped around the spot, feeling the lightsabers on his belt sway with the movement. The extra weight of his master's saber hung uncomfortably on his right hip, and he felt another twinge of guilt that he had used it without permission. He was certain Qui-Gon would understand, but he looked forward to returning the saber to its rightful owner as soon as possible. Something about the feel of that hilt in his hand made him . . . uneasy.

Eriskiett was leading him toward the back of the ship and the unused cargo holds, and she apparently had no intention of speaking or letting slip any hint about what she was going to show him. Obi-Wan used the silence as an opportunity to consider what persuasions he might use with Qui-Gon.

There was the matter of the Bristeen sense of aesthetics. Qui-Gon would be unable to carry out a diplomatic mission on Bristeetst if half his face was badly damaged. He wouldn't even be able to go out in public without giving offense to any Bristeen who saw him. Of course, their mission was a simple one that Obi-Wan could easily cover by himself, but that particular argument might hold some weight with Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan could also tactfully emphasize the unpleasant choice between regeneration and prosthetics if Qui-Gon lost his eye. The older Jedi would never agree to an artificial eye, but he wouldn't want to be away from the field for the months it would take to regenerate, either. That could be a telling point, so long as Qui-Gon didn't decide he'd be willing to function with one eye rather than take Obi-Wan's recommendation.

Eriskiett interrupted Obi-Wan's musings with a two-tone whistle as she palmed the lock on a cargo bay door. Obi-Wan stepped inside as the lights came up and paused in mid-stride.

It was a fighter. A small two-person Kestrel-8F starfighter, with blunt nose and swept-back wings, rated for atmosphere or space maneuvering. "This must have been a Bristeen ship originally," Obi-Wan mused, walking slowly around the vehicle and ducking his head to check the rotating gun mount on the belly. Bristeen aero-designers were noted for their fine work and attention to detail, and their ships were prized although expensive.

Eriskiett clacked agreement. "It was stolen from another ice convoy, about a year ago. They altered the controls, though, and repainted it."

The paint job was fairly obvious; no Bristeen artist would have combined swamp-green and shell-pink in such a way, almost obscuring the feather-tracery etched into the durasteel wings. Obi-Wan braced a foot on the wing and hoisted himself up to see into the cockpit, nodding as he saw the alterations that had been made. Both seats had been moved back and down to provide enough head-room for Gamorrean pilots, at the expense of some padding. A Bristeen pilot would have trouble reaching the controls now; even Obi-Wan would be too small in that cockpit. He could probably manage the foot-controls, he judged, but his head would barely come up above the console. And the helmets on the backs of the seats were useless for either Bristeen or human operators.

"Are you going to reclaim it, then?" Obi-Wan asked. He would have enjoyed helping with such a project, if he weren't so concerned about his master. 

"Not until we get back home," Eriskiett admitted sadly. "We have too many repairs on our own ship. And this one's sensor net took a hit in some fight not too long ago; it will take a while to repair that." She waved a feathery hand at the scoring near the little fighter's nose. "But this bird will fly again one day, and fight off pirates the way she was meant to." Eriskiett made a preening motion toward her shoulder, clearly proud that this lost fledgling would soon be returned to the nest.

"Well, if you change your mind about fixing it, let me know." Obi-Wan gave the fighter one last glance as he turned away. Perhaps after Qui-Gon was healed -- or refused to go along with Obi-Wan's plan for healing him -- then he could get involved. "I should really be getting back to Qui-Gon now. But thank you for showing me this. You were quite right that I'd be interested." He smiled at Eriskiett, earning another shy head-bob from her. He did hope it was her personality and not some desperate crush she had on him, since his own affections were directed elsewhere and not likely to change.

Dismissing himself with a polite wave, he started back to the medical bay. As he walked the freighter's long corridors, he felt and heard the change in engine speed that preceded a jump to hyperspace. Moments later, the Force blurred and dimmed around him. It was like wearing earplugs, or being wrapped in a thickly-padded jacket that blocked almost all feeling. The sensation was not precisely unpleasant, but Obi-Wan always felt somehow diminished as a Jedi when he was in hyperspace, disconnected from the energy that pulsed throughout the galaxy.

Obi-Wan settled by Qui-Gon's medical pallet, checking the dressings over his master's face and straightening the thermal sheet across the still form. He slipped the older man's hand out from under the sheet so that he could hold it in his own. As he waited for the right moment to awaken Qui-Gon, the two of them created a picture of outward calm. Inside, Obi-Wan's mind was whirling with plans and memories.


	6. Chapter 6

When Obi-Wan had been apprenticed to Qui-Gon for a little over a year, they went on a mission to Alderaan -- a mission that Obi-Wan privately considered useless and boring. They were acting as couriers for some documents from the Supreme Chancellor to the Senator of Alderaan, who was currently on her home planet because the Senate was not in session. Certainly the documents were important, but they were not in any unusual risk of being stolen; any responsible courier could have handled them. Two Jedi were hardly needed.

What Obi-Wan didn't find out until several years later was that they had really been sent to Alderaan as a possible stepping-off point for a much more dangerous mission to Rhunir. They were only waiting for the Rhun to make an official request to the Council for Jedi intervention, and then they could make the journey in a much shorter time than if they had started from Coruscant. Instead, the Rhun decided they would much rather continue killing each other for a while longer, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan didn't travel to Rhun until another two years had passed and the exhausted combatants were ready for a truce.

In the meantime, unaware of the potentially dangerous mission, Obi-Wan found himself at loose ends on Alderaan, with his master counseling patience any time he complained. Obi-Wan preferred planets with more action and less culture. His only consolation was the Senator's youngest son, who was twenty-two Alderaanian years old -- or, in Coruscant terms, Obi-Wan's senior by just over a year. Fellist was sufficiently fascinated with all things Jedi that he was happy to pass time with a younger boy. And it soon became obvious that he hoped to learn more from Obi-Wan than obscure facts about life at the Temple.

For his part, Obi-Wan was quite certain that he didn't want his first sexual experience to be with Fellist Vaar. He was hoping for a first partner who was a little older and more experienced. But Fellist was a handsome and charming boy, with olive skin and blue-black hair and enormous dark eyes. Obi-Wan decided he would enjoy this opportunity to look openly at another human with desire in his eyes, to practice the mysterious art of flirtation, and even to steal a few kisses in the lower-level laundry where only droids could see them. 

Of course, the fact that only droids could _see_ didn't mean that only droids would _know_. When Obi-Wan returned with tingling lips to the rooms set aside for them in the Senator's mansion, he found Qui-Gon waiting in the common room. "We must talk, Padawan." 

Obi-Wan sighed. "It's nothing serious, Master. We were just playing around. Experimenting."

Qui-Gon's raised brow was eloquent of doubt. "Obi-Wan, do you know the legal age of consent on Alderaan?"

"Er . . . no?"

"Twenty-five."

So Fellist still had two and a half Alderaanian years to go. Poor fellow.

"Do you know the age of consent on Coruscant?"

That was even older. "Eighteen. But Master, it's ridiculous! No one waits --"

"You must always know the law and respect it, Padawan, even if it is sometimes necessary to break it."

"Yes, Master. But we weren't _going_ to break the law, really! I'm not ready to go all the way yet. And I wouldn't do anything that might offend the Senator." 

Qui-Gon gave him a piercing assessment from under hooded brows. He had to know his padawan was telling the truth. Obi-Wan sometimes wondered if it was because of Xanatos that Qui-Gon seemed so suspicious of him all the time. He tried to be patient with his master, but he hadn't been doing anything wrong this time! 

At last Qui-Gon relaxed back into his seat. "Well, that sounds more like the sensible Padawan I thought I knew."

Obi-Wan smiled in relief. Someday, his master would learn that he wasn't like Xanatos.

"But we still need to talk. Sit down, Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan sat across from his master and tried to look attentive, since Qui-Gon always disapproved of any sign of impatience. But Obi-Wan had a feeling he already knew what this talk would be about.

"I know you missed many of the initiate classes when you were ten and eleven," Qui-Gon began, referring to an injury that had set Obi-Wan's training back by a year and a half, so that he almost wasn't chosen as a padawan at all.

"They assigned me to a new class with younger students," Obi-Wan explained. "I _did_ attend the lectures on sexuality, Master."

A sharp look from Qui-Gon informed the apprentice that he was coming close to revealing impatience. "I'm concerned that you may have missed one lecture in particular," he said. He paused, evidently considering the most delicate way to continue.

Obi-Wan sighed once more. He _tried_ not to be sarcastic with Qui-Gon, but it was hard sometimes, especially when his master acted as if he still belonged in the creche. It was obvious that someone was going to have to be blunt in this conversation, and it was apparently not going to be Qui-Gon. "Master, I am familiar with issues of reproduction, contraception, lubrication, and disease transmission. I also know about obtaining assurances of consent and taking responsibility for mutual pleasure. And I've read about common sex toys, games of dominance and submission, threesomes, orgies --"

Qui-Gon stiffened. "Surely they don't cover all _that_ with the initiates," he objected.

"No, Master, but Coruscant has an extensive infonet."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Some of the information on the net is erroneous, you know."

"Master, I'm _fourteen_. I _think_ I can tell the difference between a rumor site and a public information site." 

"Padawan." Spoken ominously. 

Obi-Wan winced. Perhaps he'd been a little too heavy on the irony, there. "Sorry, Master. I just mean to say that I know about all that stuff already. We don't need to discuss it if it makes you uncomfortable."

Qui-Gon made a small huffing sound, and Obi-Wan realized there was amusement at the back of his master's eyes. "There is more to sex than toys and games, Padawan. Did you ever attend the lecture on sex specifically among the Jedi?"

Obi-Wan drew a blank there. Why would sex be any different for the Jedi than for the Force-blind? "I suppose I did miss that one," he admitted.

"Ah. Well, then, perhaps you have noticed . . . I assume you engage in self-pleasure, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan felt his face starting to heat up. Discussing sex was one thing, but this was getting personal! "Yes, Master." He studied the plush carpet beneath his boots.

"Good. Have you noticed a change in the Force when you become excited, then?"

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped up in surprise. "Er, no. In the Living Force?" He was always forgetting to pay proper attention there.

"In your own Living Force. Sexual arousal and release can cause a powerful buildup of energy in Force-sensitives."

"No, I never noticed." But now that he thought of it, there was the way he kept getting little shocks of energy when he went to the 'fresher afterwards to clean up. And there was that time . . . "Oh."

"Yes, Padawan?"

Now Obi-Wan's face was truly burning. "Remember last month on Malastare when the assassins came into our suite at night?"

"And you stopped all of them before they even reached my door? Yes, I recall." Qui-Gon studied his apprentice closely. "I see. Did they interrupt something, then?"

Obi-Wan shrugged, acutely embarrassed. "I was just getting started. But I've never felt so connected to the Force during a fight."

"That is what sexual excitement normally does to a Force-sensitive. The effect tends to be stronger in sex with a partner."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Is it . . . harmful?"

"No, not at all. At least, not to us. You must be careful what you do with the extra Force, however -- especially if your sexual partner is Force-blind."

"What _do_ you do with it?"

"There are several options, depending on your strength and level of control. You can absorb the energy into yourself -- this is probably what you've been doing so far on your own. It results in a stronger connection to the Force afterwards, although there can be some . . . uncomfortable effects."

Obi-Wan nodded, remembering the little shocks he had received. If it truly was stronger after sex with a partner, he would start to develop a phobia of running water!

"If your partner is also Force-sensitive, he or she can absorb some of the energy as well. Or you can dissipate it elsewhere."

"You mean, levitate something during sex? Like that?"

Qui-Gon smiled. "Few people have the mental control for levitation under such circumstances. But something simple, such as raising the room temperature a few degrees, will easily dissipate the excess energy."

"Oh. And making it warmer is probably nice if you have to be naked anyway," Obi-Wan mused.

"But you must be careful not to channel the energy into living things." Qui-Gon looked stern. "Especially -- and this is most important, Padawan -- _never_ direct the excess into a Force-blind partner. It's true this can enhance your partner's pleasure, and because of that, you might find some people who will ask you to do so. There are even beings who will deliberately seduce Jedi in hopes of just such an experience. But channeling excess Force into a partner unable to handle it is unethical and can have dangerous side effects for your partner."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "What sort of side effects?"

"Exhaustion and immune suppression are the most common, but in extreme cases it can lead to premature aging." Qui-Gon looked at his apprentice very seriously. "Do you understand now why I had to make sure that you know about this?"

Obi-Wan nodded quickly, shivering as he thought of what might have happened if he _had_ gone all the way with Fellist. Or if his master hadn't told him about this strange effect. How could he have missed out on such important information?

"Good. Now that you do know about it, I want you to try to become more aware of the Force. When you pleasure yourself, feel how it builds up. Try out some different ways of dissipating the energy, and also pay attention to how it feels if you simply absorb it instead. All these things will help you when you go on to try sex with a partner."

Obi-Wan instantly started counting up the hours until he could fairly expect to have the privacy to experiment on his own. His eyes flickered speculatively to the door of his bedroom, but he decided it would be a little too obvious to hole up in there during the afternoon.

Qui-Gon was watching as if he knew exactly what Obi-Wan was thinking, and the amusement had returned to his eyes. "Let me just tell you one more thing, Padawan, as a caution to you. I want to be certain you understand the importance of this." His mouth quirked a little sadly. "My own first sexual experience, many years ago, was with a fellow padawan. We were outside in a secluded meadow, since that was the only place where we could find any privacy. We allowed the Force that built up within us to flow into the grasses and plants around us. We thought it would be harmless enough, and we were quite charmed afterwards to find ourselves surrounded by flowers in bloom. But that night a harsh storm blew up, as often happens in that place and season. All the plants that had bloomed out of season were killed by the heavy rains. When my friend and I returned a few days later, the spot where we had lain was quite denuded."

Obi-Wan listened with his mouth open, struggling to get his mind around the concept of his master as a padawan, his master as a sexual being, his master as an awkward teenager looking for a place to make love -- making mistakes and learning lessons. It wasn't something he had ever thought about before, but now he had the strangest desire to go back in time and make those discoveries at young Qui-Gon's side.

"The lesson here is that even though the Force is the energy of life, and even though we use the Force in the service of Light, it can still be misapplied through carelessness or ignorance. You must always be careful what you do with such power, and always be aware of how you are affecting others."

Obi-Wan studied the carpet, his brow furrowed. He was more curious than ever, now -- what _would_ it be like with a partner? Perhaps he should try going along with Fellist's ideas. But all of Obi-Wan's earlier reasons for keeping to a mild flirtation with Fellist still held good. He still didn't want to offend the Senator, and he still wanted a partner with at least a little experience. In fact . . . he glanced up speculatively at his master.

"Do you have a question, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's face began to warm again. "No. Well, yes, I suppose. I thought . . . I mean, I've always thought I'd want my first sexual partner to be -- well, someone who knows what they're doing." He swallowed. He couldn't really do this, could he? Qui-Gon was so _big_. 

"A wise decision," Qui-Gon approved.

"Yes, but now . . . I guess I have to find a partner who doesn't just know about sex, but also knows about the Force. Sex _and_ the Force."

Qui-Gon considered. "You don't _have_ to, but it would be a prudent precaution."

"Another Jedi," Obi-Wan said slowly.

"Is this a problem? You have many friends among the other padawans, both older and younger than you."

"Yes, but we're hardly ever at the Temple. I might have to wait a year or more before I get a chance to, er . . ."

Qui-Gon sat back, his face at its most inscrutable. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his hands looked enormous as they clasped opposite elbows. Yet those hands had always been warm and soothing as they comforted and guided Obi-Wan, treating his wounds or adjusting his grip on his saber. "You could reconsider your requirements. If you take care, there should be no problem in taking a Force-blind partner."

"Maybe. Or maybe --" Obi-Wan licked his lips nervously. "Maybe _you_ could . . . could show me . . ."

"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle and a little sad.

Obi-Wan's eyes flew up to meet his master's, asking the questions he couldn't voice.

"You are my padawan. Your duties are to work with me, to obey me, and to learn from my example. Sexual involvement could only confuse our relationship at this point. Your duty of obedience, for example, would interfere with that business of obtaining consent, about which you are so well informed."

"But if I'm asking _you_ \--"

Qui-Gon continued smoothly, never raising his voice. "It is also illegal because you are underage, both here on Alderaan and on our home planet of Coruscant. I see no reason to defy those laws."

"Four _years_ \--"

"It need not be so long if you keep to your plans to seek out a more experienced padawan. Sexual activity among minors is generally overlooked so long as there is no coercion by an adult." Qui-Gon smiled gently. "Just a few minutes ago, you said you weren't ready yet to go all the way. You've done very well learning on your own so far, Obi-Wan. It won't be that long before we are on Coruscant again. Wait until you know your own mind; I'm certain you'll make a sensible choice."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed and returned his gaze to the carpet again. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Qui-Gon had said yes; although he knew his master would never do anything to hurt him, it would still have been a little scary. So maybe he _wasn't_ ready yet. But the more he heard and read about it, the more complicated sex seemed. How was he supposed to find someone to show him what it was really like, if Qui-Gon wouldn't --

"Put it out of your mind, Padawan," said Qui-Gon firmly, indicating that he had picked up at least a little of that stray thought. "I am your master, your teacher -- your partner in work, but not in other ways."

Obi-Wan nodded and stood up. At a nod from Qui-Gon, he excused himself to his room. The possibility of experimentation occurred to him, but there was too little time before evening meal. And he had too much to think about.

Put it out of his mind? How was he supposed to do that, when he had just started to look at his master in this new light? When he had just noticed the softness of his lips and the size of his hands? Was Qui-Gon just as big all over? The older man's skin might not be so smooth and clear as young Fellist's, but he had that lovely long neck. Obi-Wan wondered what it would be like to kiss his master there, where the life pulsed so close to the surface . . .

He was getting hard at the thought, and when he checked, he realized that the Living Force was swirling strongly all around him. And this just from thinking about his master's _neck_! Obi-Wan belatedly firmed his mental shields as strong as he could make them. This was embarrassing. He had to work with Qui-Gon. He had to share meals with him. In fact, he had to sit down to a meal with Qui-Gon, Fellist, and Senator Vaar in just a few minutes! Obi-Wan rolled over to bury his face in the pillow with a groan.


	7. Chapter 7

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to the medbay once more, a little surprised to find that he had slipped into a light trance while reviewing those old memories. He smiled sadly as he recalled Qui-Gon's gentle rejection of his advances. He had wanted, more than once, to ask again, but had never been willing to face another patient rebuff. Instead, he had done as Qui-Gon suggested and found himself some partners among the other padawans. He could not be sorry for the experiences; some of them had been very enlightening. But all the lessons that he enjoyed most had been learned from his master, and he wished that this had been one of them.

Would Qui-Gon turn him away now, when there was a strong reason to accept? Some of those old arguments were still valid, and others were not. Obi-Wan was legally an adult now, yet still a padawan. He still owed his master obedience, although he thought he could give a reasonable assurance of free consent. After all, he had displayed his ability to speak up for himself on more than one occasion when Qui-Gon might have wished he had remained silent. 

After considering all sides of the matter, Obi-Wan simply didn't know what his master would say to his proposal. A small part of him was insisting that Qui-Gon's answer would reflect upon his own desirability -- that a rejection now would be a rejection of _him_ and not merely his suggestion. But he pushed those thoughts aside as unworthy. Qui-Gon would decide according to his conscience, and Obi-Wan must not take the outcome personally -- whether the answer was yea or nay.

He felt his master's mind drifting toward consciousness, and leaned forward eagerly. Qui-Gon was ready to awaken now, and soon enough Obi-Wan would have his answer. 

In response to his movement, the medical droid came up to the bed and examined the readouts at the head of the pallet. "There has been some change?" it asked in the droning voice that was supposedly designed to be soothing to most races. 

"He's starting to return to consciousness."

The droid's appendages moved back and forth over Qui-Gon's form as if indecisive. "Are you sure he wouldn't want something to relieve his pain?"

About to answer in the negative, Obi-Wan cut himself off. Ordinarily, Qui-Gon would awaken and the two of them would deal with the pain together. They would release it into the Force and settle Qui-Gon into a healing trance that would allow him to recover in less than half the time it would take a Force-blind human. Since both of those techniques had more to do with re-directing Qui-Gon's own inner energies than actually drawing upon an external Force, there was no reason they wouldn't work in hyperspace. 

And after a day or so in healing trance, Qui-Gon's injuries would be graven upon his face permanently -- or at least until he found the time and inclination for a lengthy cosmetic regeneration.

Or they could try out Obi-Wan's plan, which might allow a true healing of all Qui-Gon's wounds -- but only if he could get his master to agree in the first place. They needed to have a calm, reasonable discussion about the possibility, and they couldn't do that if Qui-Gon was suffering terrible pain. 

So Obi-Wan nodded at the droid. "All right. Stun the nerves on that side of his face. Only a short-term stun, though. No drugs."

The droid produced a medical stunner and pressed it against the corner of Qui-Gon's jaw. "You must realize, I will ask your friend what his own wishes are once he is awake. If he disagrees with you, I will have to do what he asks." The stunner moved to another nerve cluster, then another and another around the periphery of Qui-Gon's injuries.

"He won't disagree," Obi-Wan said firmly, hoping that statement would prove true of more than just the issue of pain control.

The droid treated one last nerve cluster on the side of Qui-Gon's neck. "There. He will be more comfortable now," it said in satisfaction.

"Thank you." Obi-Wan reached out through the enlivening bond and pulled gently, drawing his master toward him. 

After long minutes, Qui-Gon's right eye fluttered open. "Ohhh --" he breathed.

The droid pulled out a drink-bulb and squirted a few drops of water into Qui-Gon's mouth.

Qui-Gon licked at his lips, dribbling a little on the left side of his mouth where the nerves were deadened. "ObaWa," he slurred.

"Right here, Master." Obi-Wan leaned forward, patting Qui-Gon's arm.

Qui-Gon's gaze became sharper, half his face crinkling into a smile. "Uz d'eaming avout you." He licked his lips again, his words clearing as he learned the trick of speaking with one side of his mouth. "About when you were younger." His hand rose, one finger tracing softly down Obi-Wan's cheek.

Obi-Wan gulped as he caught the barest glimpse of Qui-Gon's thoughts. Apparently his little memory-trance had not been entirely private. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I was broadcasting," he said guiltily. Then he realized that it wasn't so much a matter of broadcasting as that he had never quite broken the connection after he first entered his master's dreams. 

"No matter. Nuffing e'se to do while I was waiting." The master's eye flicked around the medical bay, taking in details. "So, then -- why did you tell me not to wake up? And why no healing trance?" 

The droid stepped closer to the bed as Qui-Gon looked at it speculatively. "Do you remember how you came to be injured, Master Jinn?" 

"Of course. A pirate attack, and an explosion right in front of me . . ." His eye tracked back to Obi-Wan.

"A section of decking struck you on the side of your face," Obi-Wan told him quietly. 

Qui-Gon's hand wandered up toward the dressing over his cheek, and Obi-Wan caught it away. "The nerves have been stunned; that's why you don't feel anything."

"My eye?" the master whispered.

Obi-Wan swallowed. "Badly injured, but we can save it, if we act quickly. I have an idea . . ." He stopped and glanced up at the droid. "Which I will tell you about, in private."

The droid didn't move. "I must assess Master Jinn's mental state."

"He is quite awake and coherent; that's all you need to know. Now I must speak to him alone."

"Master Jinn, are you in agreement with this? If you prefer not to be disturbed --" 

"No, thzat's quite all right," Qui-Gon said. "You may trust Obi-Wan to know what I would wish, if I am unable to speak for myself." 

Obi-Wan flushed at the praise, his hand tightening over his master's.

"Please call me at once if you experience any dizziness or a severe headache." The droid withdrew reluctantly.


	8. Chapter 8

The moment they were alone, Qui-Gon tried to sit up. Obi-Wan hurried to adjust the pallet to a more vertical position. He felt the wash of vertigo that passed over his master upon first coming upright, but it faded after a few moments. Blinking to clear his vision, Qui-Gon turned to his apprentice. "Tell me plainly, Obi-Wan." 

"Many of the bones on the left side of your face have been shattered. The worst was the cheekbone and brow just above the eye. You had a concussion and some fluid build-up in your brain, but we managed to deal with that. Your nose and upper jaw were also broken, though they didn't splinter like the other bones."

"Thum teef miffing," Qui-Gon mumbled as his tongue probed around the deadened side of his mouth.

"Yes, three teeth gone. Stop poking at it," Obi-Wan said sternly, and earned a flash of amusement in his master's good eye. "The ship's medical droid doesn't have micro-tractors precise enough for the fine work, but it can perhaps manage repositioning some of the larger bones. All of the cosmetic problems can be fixed at a later date, although they look bad just now." 

"How bad?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Bad."

"Let me see."

Obi-Wan glanced around the medbay. "I don't know where there might be a mirror --"

"Link with me."

Obi-Wan grimaced. He had been hoping to avoid such an intimacy until after he finished presenting his plans. He could try to shield just the one idea while he projected his sight to Qui-Gon, but he wasn't very good at that sort of simultaneous reaching out and withdrawing. With a sigh, he said, "Very well." He would simply move those thoughts aside and not touch them while his mind was open. Avoiding certain thoughts was a much more basic skill, and it would serve well enough so long as Qui-Gon didn't go actively searching through his mind -- a breach of privacy that the master would never commit.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon's face and concentrated closely on the visual, letting his senses extend outward. He felt Qui-Gon take up that thread of sensation and link in with him shallowly, touching only the surface of his mind. Qui-Gon's familiar touch and deft mental control eased Obi-Wan's doubts at once. He never had to fear sharing more than he wanted with such a delicate probe. 

Once the link was established, Obi-Wan reached out and carefully peeled the dressing back from his master's face. He couldn't entirely suppress his own reaction, and he knew it had to be leaking through his surface thoughts, but he kept his gaze steady while Qui-Gon looked through his eyes.

The left side of Qui-Gon's face was a mass of cuts and bloody discoloration. Even the swelling couldn't disguise the sunken shapes where cheekbone and eyebrow should have been. The eyelid seemed to bulge outward by contrast, but at least it was mostly intact, with only a single long cut that had already been sealed. A glimmer of yellow-tinged white showed behind the half-masted lid. 

Qui-Gon blinked several times with his good eye while he tried to move his left eyelid, but the stunned nerves on that side allowed no movement. Obi-Wan felt the fringe of his master's desire to see the eyeball, but he refused to reach out and pull the lid open.

"Your eye is intact," he said instead, and focused in on the memory of his brief glimpse of it when he had first examined his master in that dark corridor. "At least, the front is intact. There was some damage at the back of the eyeball from bone splinters and shrapnel. The retina will have to be reattached. The optic nerve was cleanly severed and can be repaired whenever we get a chance." He carefully replaced the dressing over his master's eye and sat back a little, pushing on the link between them until he felt Qui-Gon withdraw. 

"Tell me the worst," Qui-Gon insisted, obviously having a good idea of what was coming.

"The blood supply to your eyeball has been compromised. There's a chance the eye might have to be removed in the next few days. If it goes that far, the only choices left will be regeneration or prosthesis." 

Qui-Gon's expression turned inward as he tracked the damage with his own senses. "I see."

"The problem is too widespread for the droid to deal with. I was going to try to fix it myself, but . . ." Obi-Wan swallowed hard.

"We're in hyperspace," Qui-Gon supplied. Being so closely attuned to the Living Force, he was even more uncomfortable at trans-light speeds than his apprentice -- though it had taken Obi-Wan several years to recognize the unease behind his master's mask of serenity.

"Yes. I spoke to the captain, hoping to ask her if we could stay in normal space for an extra day or so. But it appears that a short delay now translates into a long wait at the refueling stations. We could be as much as ten days late reaching Bristeetst. I thought you would find that unacceptable."

"So I do." Qui-Gon considered. "Even in hyperspace, I should be able to repair some of the damage." 

"Enough to keep the eye, perhaps, but you can't fix all of your face," Obi-Wan said. "Not without access to the Force." 

"No, I suppose not. It will take me a full day in deep trance just to save those blood vessels." The work Qui-Gon was considering was much more demanding than a normal trance that would accelerate the natural processes of healing; he actually needed to reverse some of the gross physical damage that had already taken place. 

"And . . . forgive me, master, but you know the Bristeen will not accept you as the Republic's representative at the ceremony with your face looking like that."

Qui-Gon's good eye creased in amusement. "That's true. Well, what cannot be helped must be accepted. I fear you will have to do the bulk of the work on this mission, Padawan."

"There _is_ an alternative," Obi-Wan offered slowly.

"Oh?"

"I know how we can access enough of the Force for you to repair those wounds in a few hours." 

The corner of Qui-Gon's mouth drew down. "I don't like what you're suggesting, Obi-Wan. You know very well that we must never draw upon the Living Force even in the direst --" 

"That's not what I meant, Master," Obi-Wan put in quickly. "We can use our _own_ energies."

Qui-Gon shook his head, then winced at the lingering pain from his concussion. "Too much is required. We could drain ourselves to exhaustion and still have only enough Force to make a few small adjustments. In the end, that would actually set my healing back."

"Not if we are generating more of the Force within us."

Qui-Gon hesitated. "What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan moistened his lips nervously. "You know what I was thinking about just before you awakened, Master."

"A memory-trance? How will that help me to heal?"

"No, I mean the content of that particular memory. A way of producing the Living Force inside ourselves."

There was a long pause while Qui-Gon absorbed that, and then an astonished chuckle escaped him. "You propose that I should masturbate myself back to health and beauty?"

Obi-Wan swallowed against a dry throat. "Well . . . the effect _is_ considerably stronger with a partner. Especially a Force-sensitive partner." That sounded remarkably rational and businesslike for a sexual proposition, he thought. 

"You're serious!" Qui-Gon exclaimed.

"Of course." Did his master really think Obi-Wan would joke about such a thing?

"Obi-Wan, it doesn't work that way. Sexual excitement is merely another way of gathering in the available Force from around us --"

"No, it's not!" Obi-Wan was so surprised to hear his master saying something untrue that he interrupted without thinking. "It actually generates Living Force from our own energies. No contact with external Force is required."

Qui-Gon frowned at being contradicted. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've used it that way before."

"In hyperspace?"

"Well . . . no. It was when I had literally _no_ contact with outside Force at all." Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "Do you remember the time we went to Arawoon?" 

Qui-Gon's half-expression turned sour. "Vividly. That mission gave me nightmares for a month afterward."

Obi-Wan blinked. "I rather enjoyed it, actually."

"You _would_. You were off playing with your agemates while I did the negotiating."

"Well, yes, and also . . ." Obi-Wan coughed. "I was able to put that technique for Force-generation to good use in the end, as well. It was, er, _interesting_ to find such a practical application for that particular activity." 

Qui-Gon frowned, obviously searching his recollection of the mission for any such event. Obi-Wan waited patiently, half-smiling, and considered his own memories of that exceptionally wet adventure.


	9. Chapter 9

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Why?" Obi-Wan looked up, tugging at the sleeve of his new shirt. "It sounds interesting to me."

Qui-Gon was trying to adjust his own outfit. The tight-fitting design felt strange after decades of loose tunics and robes, but these clothes were made of a lightweight material that dried quickly, wouldn't bog them down underwater, and would hold a thin layer of still water near their skin for insulation. "It isn't a true foreboding," Qui-Gon reassured his apprentice quickly. "I rarely have a strong sense of the future. But I don't feel that we're adequately prepared for this mission." He felt particularly concerned for the safety of his padawan, whose apprenticeship had gotten off to a rather rocky start less than two years before.

"I finished those Avoorn language tapes," Obi-Wan offered, in evidence of his preparedness.

"Hmm. And what did you think of them?"

"Well . . . the vocabulary wasn't very large, for such a complicated language."

"Exactly. The language has only partially been mapped, and we will be missing some of the finer inflections."

"All those weird vowel sounds . . . I don't think I can make those noises. I can do the transliterations, I think, but the Avoorn won't understand that. Are we supposed to be able to sound like them?"

"No, it's not possible for us to speak this language. Like Wookiee, it requires a larger resonating cavity, or else years of practice to compensate. We will be using translators -- here is yours. But the protocol chips in the translators are not perfect. We must choose our words carefully to avoid inflections that might give offense. Let me do most of the talking."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan turned the small unit over in his hands, trying to figure out how to use it.

"It goes over the end of your aquata breather, like so." Qui-Gon demonstrated. "Then you must speak as distinctly as you can, in very simple sentences." 

Obi-Wan nodded and tugged at his sleeves again. His feet were braced wide on the deck of their small tri-phibious ship, balancing against the gentle rocking of the waves.

Qui-Gon spoke slowly. "As I've told you before, Padawan, we must never let ourselves become distracted by our own fears. But in this case it's only prudent to be conscious of the dangers. We will be in an environment that is hostile to us by its very nature. We are dealing with people who know little of the Republic or the Jedi, and who have less at stake in these negotiations than we do."

"Still, it's nice to be working on behalf of the Jedi for once, instead of people we hardly know." Obi-Wan smiled cheerfully.

"True. If we can establish a trade agreement for these Force-reactive crystals, we won't have to pay so much for stones grown in microgravity." 

"And these ones are supposed to be more powerful, too." Obi-Wan unhooked his own lightsaber and considered it. "It seems odd that we're negotiating for saber crystals, but we can't take our weapons with us."

"They would do us little good underwater." Qui-Gon accepted the hilt from his student and tucked it into a waterproof case alongside his own, then carefully locked the case. "Now, we will be limited to no more than four hours at a time in the water. That's a precaution to make sure that we maintain our body temperature, in addition to the fact that our breathers are only good for about that long. You have all four breathers on you?"

Obi-Wan nodded, patting the cases on his belt. "I'll be all right, Master. I was at the top of my class in physio-control techniques. I can hold my breath for over fifteen minutes, and resist decompression sickness even if I have to surface really quickly." 

"Good. Use the earplugs and nose filters, as well. They'll provide some protection from the volcanic metals in these waters, although we'll still absorb the poisons through our skins."

Obi-Wan smiled. "I still think this will be interesting. Hardly anyone from the Republic has ever been here. It's like exploring a new world!"

Qui-Gon smiled tightly. He wasn't quite certain just why he felt so uneasy about this mission, although part of it might be the incessant rocking of the tri-phib. The constant motion was throwing him off emotionally as well as physically. Or perhaps there was a thread of future-sense trying to warn him.

Well, there was nothing that could be done at this point. He might wish that the Council had found an aquatic team for this mission, but it was too late for that now. He and Obi-Wan were as ready as they could be; they would simply have to trust in the Force to guide them through any difficulties that might arise.

After one last check of their clothing and equipment, Qui-Gon opened the lock in the belly of their Calamarian-designed ship. The air pressure within the ship had been carefully set to ensure that the water level would only rise as far as they wanted it. Once the lock was full, Qui-Gon led the way down the steps and into the chill water.

The planet of Arawoon had no sizeable land-masses; all of its continents were underwater, and only the tallest mountains poked small islands above the surface of the great ocean. The Jedi were swimming above one such continent now. The Avoorn, being only partially amphibious, occasionally had to snatch a breath of air; for that reason, they liked to live in shallower waters, even though their technology allowed them to bring air directly to their homes. The bottom here was no more than fifty meters below the surface.

Qui-Gon had only gone a short distance, with his padawan close behind, when the first hulking shapes appeared through the shadowy waters. The Jedi held position politely while their escort looked them over, then Qui-Gon asked if he might see the chieftain of the Bavwauu pod, which occupied the waters around the crystal deposits.

He was relieved to find that the translator worked well, producing a pure, resonant song from his mumbles around the breather. The protocol chip's translation seemed accurate to his half-trained ears, and their escort evidently understood his request. The longest green figure moaned an assent and began to swim -- very slowly, in deference to the outsiders -- down to a cluster of buildings on the sea floor.

The dwellings of the Avoorn were large, organic shapes made of a pearly shell-like substance, very appealing to the eye. Intake stacks bristled at the topmost portion of each structure, drawing in water and extracting the gases dissolved within. When Qui-Gon and his apprentice were conducted into the grandest of the buildings, he glanced up to see a bubble of air near the ceiling, where the Avoorn could rise a few times each hour and take a breath at their leisure.

Their escort had moved closer now, and in the greenish phosphor glow that lit the interior of the building, Qui-Gon had his first close look at the Avoorn. They had the functional streamlined shape common to most aquatic creatures, with a few exceptions; instead of fins, the Avoorn had skirt-like layers of cartilage down the length of their bodies, which rippled elegantly to provide propulsion. Their heads were large and their slit-pupiled eyes widely spaced, indicating the size of the brains that had given them sentience. And rather than the hands which common wisdom said were necessary for the evolution of intelligence, the Avoorn had whiskery tentacles all around their mouths. Versatile and surprisingly strong, those tentacles offered all the dexterity the Avoorn needed to develop an impressive technology base. Perhaps most notable of all, a typical adult was about five times as long and a hundred times as massive as Qui-Gon himself, making them the largest intelligent creatures he had ever had to deal with -- larger than all but the oldest and most bloated of Hutts.

The Avoorn wore no clothing, but jewelry was very popular. The chieftain who awaited them at the end of the vaulted hall was especially festooned with trinkets, including many Force crystals in gleaming settings of the same shell-material the buildings were composed of. Qui-Gon winced inwardly as he realized that the resonance of the crystals would make it more difficult for him to use the Force to sense or influence the chieftain's thoughts.

He waited for the chieftain to speak first, as their limited cultural briefing had indicated would be proper. The chieftain was the largest Avoorn in the hall, and the leader of their escort -- also a very large creature -- was evidently his second-in-command. As the chieftain glided lazily up to the two Jedi, he diverted briefly to exchange a look and a stroke of fluke-skirts with his second.

"Chehhh-daiiii," the chieftain spoke at last, having made a full circle around the pair of humans. He placed himself slightly above them, in a position of dominance.

Qui-Gon took a moment to recognize the word, but once realization dawned he was astonished at how close it came to the correct pronunciation.

"We heard of your coming," the chieftain boomed in his own language. "You want something from us."

"Honored chieftain of the Bavwauu," Qui-Gon said, wishing he had a name to work with. He used his hands to flip the back hem of his shirt in a gesture something like the fluke-greeting he had seen the second make. "We hope to gain something, and also to give something in return. A free trade, beneficial for both our people." He listened to what the translator made out of that, and tracked the reactions of the other Avoorn, since he couldn't sense the chieftain properly.

Apparently the translation was good, since the chieftain made a sound of pleasure and allowed himself to sink a little to the same level they were on. "Welcome to our pod. I am BaswiIIrn, leader of the Bavwauu. This is my [something], WeiihuOOo." The complex inflexions of the names rose and fell, echoing throughout the hall. Qui-Gon's knowledge of the language was insufficient to interpret the word the chieftain had used to refer to his second. Lieutenant, assistant . . . spouse? 

Qui-Gon bowed his head automatically, which wasn't very meaningful to the Avoorn, then flipped the back of his shirt once more. He turned off his translator for a moment and used the Force to amplify his own voice through the water. "Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Jedi."

Several of the Avoorn started in surprise as bubbles rose from Qui-Gon's mouth, distorting his speech. He quickly reactivated his translator. "We are honored by your welcome."

A smaller Avoorn floated out of the shadows at the edge of the hall, approaching them cautiously from below. Qui-Gon thought it must be a juvenile, and wondered why the child was allowed to interfere with diplomatic proceedings. Very likely, knowing nothing of the Jedi, the Avoorn didn't consider them to be potentially dangerous.

Obi-Wan was glancing at his master, and Qui-Gon offered a narrowing of his eyes to advise caution, then nodded slightly. With a combination of Force and subtle movements, Obi-Wan lowered himself a little to get closer to the young Avoorn.

The chieftain was speaking again. "What do you plan to trade, Cheh-dai, that would be valuable to us?"

"We have much technology that could benefit your people," Qui-Gon began. He quickly reviewed his limited knowledge of the needs of the Avoorn, and suggested, "Medicines, for instance."

The chieftain maneuvered closer to Qui-Gon -- and above him. "What about weapons?"

Qui-Gon reached out carefully to sense the mood of the room. This was potentially treacherous ground. He knew that different pods of Avoorn were in constant competition for territory and resources. "The Jedi do not manufacture any weapons that would be useful underwater."

The chieftain moved in a little closer. "Propulsion [something]?"

"We have several propulsion systems that might interest you," Qui-Gon agreed, thinking quickly. "Some would be useful for individuals, and some for vehicles or larger objects. Would you like to discuss the details more privately?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he had been watching Obi-Wan interact tentatively with the young Avoorn. Abruptly, the youngster gave a violent start, then glided smoothly to the chieftain's side. They had a quiet conversation that seemed to consist of partial words and gestures rather than anything that Qui-Gon could understand. Then the youngster sank down a little and the chieftain faced Qui-Gon once more.

"My offspring, HaruOOo," the chieftain boomed with pride.

Qui-Gon noted the similarity in inflection between the young one's name and the second's. Was it just a common name-sound or did it imply a relationship? Qui-Gon was not entirely certain of Avoorn gender identifications; could the second be the child's mother and the chieftain's spouse? Apparently the young one was something like a royal heir, indulged with privileges such as the right to interrupt delicate negotiations.

The chieftain spoke again. "Would your offspring care to go out and play with mine?" A few meters below, the youngster was listening intently.

Qui-Gon prepared to explain that Obi-Wan was not his son, then decided that it didn't matter. It might even give his apprentice a little extra status, if the treatment of the chieftain's heir was any indication. "Your offer is welcome." He turned to Obi-Wan and switched off his translator, a dozen warnings running through his head: _Keep track of the time. Conserve the air in your breathers. Stay away from volcanic vents. Choose your words carefully. Don't let yourself get trapped anywhere._ But in the end, all that bubbled from his mouth was, "Use caution. Meet back at ship."

Obi-Wan nodded eagerly and let himself sink down to the lower portion of the hall, slipping out through a side entrance after the example of his new friend.

The chieftain sang a long sequence of vowels that Qui-Gon didn't quite understand, and all the Avoorn in the hall swam away except for the second. The chieftain led Qui-Gon to a secluded alcove near the back of the hall, and the second followed. Qui-Gon felt momentarily hemmed in, but reflected that he was probably small enough to slip past them if they tried anything.

The chieftain inquired again about weapons, and Qui-Gon focused his mind upon the delicate task of negotiation.


	10. Chapter 10

The first round of negotiations went poorly. BaswiIIrn was inclined to be troublesome, pushing on the weapons question and any other issue where Qui-Gon displayed reluctance. Part of the chieftain's attitude was a sound negotiation tactic, as he repeatedly pointed out that the Avoorn needed nothing from the Jedi as much as the Jedi needed their crystals. But another part of it, Qui-Gon gathered, was mere posturing. The chieftain's questions became more aggressive whenever others were present, as he emphasized his dominance before all available witnesses.

At the end of four hours, Qui-Gon left the colony feeling that he had made little progress except in the arena of learning more about his opponents. He made it back to the tri-phib with very little air remaining in his last breather, and a thrill of alarm flashed through him as he discovered that Obi-Wan hadn't returned yet. 

Reaching out along their bond, he sensed excitement and distraction, but no distress. Apparently Obi-Wan had simply lost track of the time. Qui-Gon wished that the boy's telepathic abilities would hurry up and manifest so that they could begin to communicate across distances. The ship's only comlink still lay on the control console where they had left it earlier, not anticipating that they would become separated.

Qui-Gon had to be content with sending a strong sense of disapproval down their bond. As the minutes passed and Obi-Wan remained oblivious, Qui-Gon considered going in search -- but his breathers had not recharged yet. Wryly, he wondered if it would work better to project an impression that he was in danger. Obi-Wan had always reacted quickly to that particular message. 

At last Qui-Gon felt a surge of surprise and sheepish compliance from his apprentice. Obi-Wan was on his way back to the ship, a full hour late. The tri-phib's scanners showed a small Avoorn approaching along the surface of the ocean, and as they drew nearer Qui-Gon was able to make out a human figure being towed along by his new friend.

Obi-Wan popped up from the pool of water in the lock and tossed a damp braid back over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Master!" he gasped, pulling the breather from his mouth. "I didn't realize it was so late." 

"That's the sort of mistake that can get you killed, Padawan," Qui-Gon said gravely.

"I know you said no more than four hours -- but we were at the surface! I was hardly even using my breathers. Look, I still have a full spare left. And I was in the sunshine, so I didn't get cold."

"You did get a sunburn, though." Qui-Gon brushed a hand across the back of his apprentice's neck and felt the boy flinch away even from that gentle touch. "You should know better than to go unprotected on a world with a hot blue sun like this one." 

Obi-Wan hunched guiltily as he hooked his used breathers onto the recharger. "I really am sorry, Master. I won't do it again."

"Indeed you won't. I want you to stay with me tomorrow."

The boy sighed gustily. "Yes, Master."

"Change out of those wet things and tell me where you went. I never had the chance to see much of the Avoorn pod -- did you?" 

Obi-Wan disappeared into the 'fresher, where the sound of damp cloth hitting the floor resounded moistly. "Oh, yes. HaruOOo took me to the labs -- or I suppose you would call them workshops -- where they make things. They do the most detailed work by hand!"

"Shouldn't that be 'by whisker?'" Qui-Gon returned in amusement, handing the boy's robe through the door of the 'fresher.

"I suppose so. Oh, thank you. And then we went to visit one of HaruOOo's friends, and I saw how they live. They sleep in sort of sling-cradles, a bit like the sleep sacks people use in zero gravity. The slings keep them up near the ceiling where the air is."

"That makes sense," Qui-Gon reflected.

"Then a group of us went out to visit the farms. They let me try a seed fruit from one of their seaweed-tree thingies."

Qui-Gon swung around as his padawan emerged from the 'fresher, robe wrapped close about him. "You ate their food?"

"Only a few bites. It tasted weird -- sort of salty. I didn't expect that from a fruit."

"It could have had a deadly concentration of metals," Qui-Gon snapped. He headed for the side panel that held their medical kit and pulled out a blood-reader.

"That's why I only had two bites. I don't think it was too poisonous." 

"Finger," Qui-Gon said brusquely.

Obi-Wan held out his hand obediently, restraining a flinch when the reader drew blood. "And then we went up to the reef, where the water is really shallow. They showed me how to wave-ride where the big swells break over the reef. It was so fun, Master! With just a little Force-push, I could ride one wave all the way to the other side of the reef."

Qui-Gon scowled at the results from the sample and drew four drink-bulbs of water from the chiller. "Drink those. Every one. And then an hour of healing trance to make sure your kidneys are purging the poisons."

"After dinner?" Obi-Wan suggested, popping the seal on the first water bulb. 

Qui-Gon's stomach roiled at the thought of food, but he nodded. "Very well. It will give you time to absorb that water, anyway." 

They sat down to a cold meal, which Obi-Wan, as usual, attacked with the appetite of a starving rancor. Qui-Gon regarded his own portion with disfavor. "I gather the other young people were as friendly as Haruooo?" he asked, struggling with the inflection of the name.

Obi-Wan hastily swallowed a large mouthful. "Oh, yes. Well, except for one of them. He seemed sort of . . . bigoted. He kept making stupid jokes and nasty comments about humans."

"What sort of comments?" Qui-Gon needed to understand Avoorn attitudes toward off-worlders if he was to negotiate successfully. Perhaps the young bigot's sentiments reflected those of the chieftain.

"Oh, you know, how could I swim with such tiny flukes, that sort of thing." Two spots of color were appearing above Obi-Wan's cheekbones. "I think . . . some of it was sexual. But those words weren't on the language tapes."

"Hmm." Qui-Gon contemplated his padawan's reaction for a moment. "Well, it's hardly surprising that a seven-meter-long adolescent would have some emotional issues about size." 

Obi-Wan giggled, his embarrassment evaporating in a moment. Then he glanced in surprise at his master's bowl. "Aren't you going to eat?"

Qui-Gon scowled at the food. "I suppose I had better." He started in on the meal, one careful bite at a time.

Obi-Wan set his own empty bowl to one side. "Are you all right, Master?"

"Just a little queasy, Padawan." Qui-Gon kept eating determinedly.

Obi-Wan looked alarmed. "You're not sick, are you? Did you do a reading on your own blood?" He stood and headed for the medical kit.

"I'm fine, Obi-Wan. My heavy metal concentrations were less than half as high as yours. It's just the motion of the waves putting me off, I think." 

Obi-Wan paused. "We could take the ship down a few meters below the surface. It wouldn't rock so much that way."

Qui-Gon had already considered the possibility. "We'll get more fresh air by staying at the surface."

"We can program the ship to rise every six hours or so for an air flush. That's how often the air gets exchanged anyway."

"I didn't realize it could do that."

"Oh, sure! Calamarians build _smart_ ships. This little thing will do whatever you tell it."

Qui-Gon blinked. "In that case, I believe I would feel better if we move deeper. Thank you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan beamed and sat at the console to program the ship. As the pressure changed and the ship's lift bladders filled halfway, Qui-Gon cleared away the last of their meal. Once their position under the water had stabilized, he urged his padawan to an early bed.

"Off you go and start that healing trance. Take care of your kidneys _and_ your sunburn."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan sighed, but trudged dutifully to bed.

Qui-Gon sat up for a few hours himself, searching the computer for interpretations of some of the words he had missed during the negotiations. He still didn't know the meaning of the title the chieftain had assigned to his second, although he was fairly sure by now that the second was male and therefore not HaruOOo's mother -- unless childbearing among the Avoorn was significantly different than in most species.

Eventually, after the ship had made its programmed rise to the surface and descended again, Qui-Gon headed for the bedroom. The Calamarian tri-phib had only one sleeping room, which was exactly the same size as the 'fresher across the hall. Space that was capacious for a 'fresher -- mostly because of the large bathing pool that occupied the center of the room -- somehow seemed cramped for sleeping accomodations. The two beds built into opposite walls were traditional Calamarian sleep couches with therm-plast instead of mattresses. The surface seemed hard on the first contact, but it gradually conformed to the contours of any warm body. It was comfortable enough until the sleeper decided to change positions, and the bed took another fifteen minutes to adjust. 

Qui-Gon felt eyes upon his back as he stripped off his clothes. He turned, half-expecting to find Obi-Wan pretending to be quite unconscious. But the boy just blinked at him and smiled sleepily, then rolled over to face the other way. 

Qui-Gon was relieved to see that Obi-Wan had apparently gotten over the brief infatuation that had started a few months earlier on Alderaan. He wasn't sure what he would have done if the boy had continued to desire him. He hadn't handled that phase at all well when it happened with Xanatos. Then again, Obi-Wan was easier to work with in almost every way than his previous apprentice.

Qui-Gon folded his clothes away and slipped into bed naked, grateful that the Calamarian ship at least provided blankets -- though he wished they had been made from a proper soft material instead of the slick waterproof cloth that slid so coolly across his skin. He searched for a position that was halfway comfortable and held it determinedly, waiting for the bed to adjust.

When Obi-Wan rolled over once more to his original position, which allowed a clear view of Qui-Gon, the master naturally attributed it to the unyielding nature of the therm-plast rather than any adolescent longing.

As planned, Qui-Gon started out the next day's negotiations with Obi-Wan at his side. He had thought it would be an advantage, since the padawan had had more opportunity to observe the Avoorn way of life, their attitudes and needs. But the chieftain simply used Obi-Wan's presence as an excuse for more grandstanding. 

After a fruitless hour, Qui-Gon told his apprentice to go back to the ship. Obi-Wan was disappointed and hurt, taking it for a form of punishment, and Qui-Gon couldn't explain properly in the short, distorted sentences necessitated by speaking underwater. Qui-Gon kept the comlink with him and watched his padawan swim away with an unhappy crease between his brows.

Things moved a little more smoothly once Obi-Wan was gone, since Qui-Gon was dealing with just the chieftain and his second. BaswiIIrn still showed a tendency to show off his importance in front of his second, though not quite so much as when others were around. It was more important than ever for Qui-Gon to understand the relationship between the two, but in his uncertainty he was reduced to referring to WeiihuOOo in neutral terms.

Perhaps not neutral enough -- at one point, the chieftain reared back suddenly in surprise. "What did you say?"

Qui-Gon repeated his words. "If you or your . . . companion would be willing to show me the kinds of vehicles you use, I could be more specific about the propulsion systems that might work with them."

"What did you call my [something]?" BaswiIIrn's posture was unmistakably showing dominance and anger. Also . . . was it fear? Qui-Gon wished for the hundredth time that he could get a clear reading on the chieftain without all the Force-resonant jewelry.

"I'm sorry. Would 'assistant' be a better word?"

At the last moment, Qui-Gon felt danger approaching from behind, and he turned quickly. But his reactions in the sluggish water were too slow to prevent WeiihuOOo from pressing something to his head, and then the ceiling fell on him. 

 

Qui-Gon awoke to a throbbing pain in his neck and head, vaguely surprised to find himself alive at all. The breather was still firmly clenched between his teeth, although he didn't know how much time had passed or how much air was left. His eyes wouldn't focus on anything but dim green light at first, but he could hear Avoorn voices singing in muted tones nearby. 

" . . . take his air away?"

"No, it must look like an accident." Those were the chieftain's deep notes. "We can return later and remove the [something]. Then summon the others to see that he was trying to steal from us and became trapped." 

"What of the other one?" The voices were receding now, but they resounded through the water enough for Qui-Gon to make out a few words.

"Sink . . . into the [something] trench. Make it look . . . attack from the Mavauu pod. That small ship will never . . . pressures of the deep." 

Qui-Gon pulled himself to full consciousness as he realized they were talking about his padawan. He found himself down near the sea floor surrounded by fields of gleaming rock surfaces. These must be the crystal beds, he realized, making out a vent of warm gases bubbling from a fissure some distance away. These waters were laden with poisons.

His left hand was buried forearm-deep in a crystal deposit, with the sharp shards of rock pressing tightly against his skin. It was certainly an incriminating set-up, he reflected, but all he had to do was remove his hand and escape. He reached out for the Force . . .

And felt nothing.

After a few minutes of trying futilely to access the energy that had always pervaded his world, Qui-Gon's free hand discovered the collar around his neck. Somehow it was impeding his connection with the Force. He couldn't sense the Living Force around him, couldn't draw upon the Unifying Force . . . he couldn't even send a warning to Obi-Wan. He had never known such a thing was possible -- perhaps the collar made use of those crystals which proved such an effective screen in the chieftain's jewelry. But the collar around his neck seemed to have no joint, latch, or seam; he could find nothing that would help him get it free.

He turned to his trapped hand instead. By prying at one of the largest crystals until his fingers bled, Qui-Gon was able to break it away and free himself some space to move -- only to discover that it wasn't the crystals that truly held his hand trapped. There was another smooth, seamless ring encircling his wrist, locking it to the rocky ground as if it had grown there. He could see now that it was made of the same pearlescent substance the Avoorn used for much of their architecture. But how did they shape the stuff?

He spent long minutes searching for a solution, sawing at collar and cuff with the broken crystal until his breather ran out and he had to switch to a spare. At last he had to face the inevitable. BaswiIIrn and WeiihuOOo had gone off in search of Obi-Wan; he had to get to his padawan before they succeeded in drowning the boy in a deep-water trench. And the only thing holding him back was his left hand.

Stripping off his belt one-handed, Qui-Gon wrapped it tightly about his upper left arm across several of the pressure-points. He closed his eyes and let himself slip into a light trance that would mask physical pain. Then, gripping the jagged-edged crystal tightly in his right hand, he went to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Obi-Wan's head hurt. His neck hurt. And he was cold. Water was flowing past him -- no, he was being pulled _through_ the water.

He remembered waiting inside the ship, wondering why his master was so annoyed with him. Then a flare of alarm along their bond, and . . . nothing. He had tried the comlink, had stretched out with his weak telepathic skills, but he couldn't get any response from Qui-Gon. He hoped that didn't mean the older Jedi was dead. Surely he would know, wouldn't he?

He had set out toward the Bavwauu settlement, determined to do whatever was necessary. Halfway there he had been met by the chieftain and his second-in-command, who told him that Qui-Gon needed his help. But before he could ask what was wrong or what he could do, the second had moved in close and he felt a sharp pain in his head.

And now he was being dragged through water that seemed to be growing colder by the minute. His wrists had been bound together somehow, and he was being towed along by a powerful grip that didn't yield when he pulled back experimentally. He still had a breather tucked in his mouth; if he'd spit it out while he was unconscious, he wouldn't have awakened at all. There was an engine throbbing somewhere nearby, and he still couldn't sense Qui-Gon. In fact -- Obi-Wan reached out -- he couldn't sense _anything_. It was like being in the deadness of interstellar space, or worse.

For a moment, he wondered if whatever they had done to his head had made him permanently Force-blind, but he pushed that thought aside and the panic that came with it. They were slowing down, and he heard Avoorn voices speaking nearby.

"The young one is awake."

"It doesn't matter. He won't know what we're saying. I took away his mouth [something]."

Obi-Wan's teeth clenched reflexively on his precious breather before he realized that they were talking about the translator unit. Somehow, they must have gotten the impression that the translator worked both ways and he couldn't understand Avoorn speech without it. He kept quiet and listened, waiting for a moment when he could break free.

He was rewarded when the grasp on his wrists -- one of the chieftain's whisker-tentacles, he realized -- suddenly let go. At once he kicked out and tried to turn away, only to discover that his ankles were also bound together. He couldn't pull them apart. There was another binding -- a sort of collar -- around his neck, but it didn't seem to be attached to anything. Unable to kick or paddle effectively, cut off from the Force, he hung useless in the water and began to rise slowly toward the surface.

The sea seemed much colder now than it had before. At first Obi-Wan thought it was a side-effect of his period of unconsciousness, but slowly he recognized that it was a real temperature difference. HaruOOo had mentioned a current of cold water a few hours' swim from the colony; normally the cool, dense waters would sink, but there was a place where an odd kink in the continental shelf brought chill streams up from a deep subduction trench. Obi-Wan shivered and looked down through the water below him. It seemed darker and more hostile than the waves he had played in yesterday, and he couldn't make out a bottom here.

The Avoorn voices approached again, and Obi-Wan twisted around to see the tri-phib floating not far away. The engine he had heard was some sort of external propeller that had towed the little ship here. Now the Bavwauu chieftain and his second were swimming slowly around the vessel, studying it.

" . . . crippled its flukes," the second was saying. "It won't swim again under its own power. If we cut through here, the whole thing should go straight down. No one will ever find it."

"But if they do, they'll think it was the Mavauu?"

"Yes, this is just the kind of weapon they use."

The chieftain's fluke-skirts rippled in acknowledgment. "Do it, then. If the ship is found, we can use it as an excuse to attack the Mavauu."

The second maneuvered an ugly-looking device with jagged teeth up to the side of the tri-phib. There was a rending squeal, and streams of air bubbles gushed up around the chewing device. When the thing was disconnected, the streams turned to a veritable eruption of air through a meter-wide hole. The tri-phib began to list and sink down into the cold water.

"Good. Now put him in."

Obi-Wan tried to pull away, but he had no way of moving through the water. The second came right up to him, wrapped a tentacle around his ankle-binders, and towed him to the hole in the side of the sinking ship. He was buffeted by a confusion of air and water, then the swirling currents and a sharp push from the Avoorn sent him tumbling into the crippled tri-phib. Everything spun around him, and he couldn't reach out with arms or legs to stabilize himself. He fetched up hard against a wall, and the sudden expulsion of air from his lungs popped the breather out of his mouth.

He struggled against the currents, first trying to recover the breather and then giving that up to look for any spot where he wouldn't be battered against the walls by turbulence. He fetched up at last in the corridor between the sleep-room and the 'fresher, where he caught one quick breath from an air bubble.

With the ship tilted over on its side, the sleep-room was below him. The door was open, and the room was already full of water; a blanket billowed just under the doorway. The 'fresher door, less than a meter above his head, was closed. His little reserve of air was rapidly diminishing as cold water sloshed through the ship. If he could just get into the 'fresher and seal the door behind him, he could buy a little time.

He ducked down under the water and braced himself against the obliquely-tilted lintel of the bedroom door. Kicking off sharply, he brought himself up high enough to hit the palm-lock for the 'fresher door. It hissed open, and water began to splash into the fresher through the lowest corner of the door. If he didn't get inside and close that door quickly, the 'fresher would fill with water as well and would change the balance of the ship.

Descending once more and kicking upward as hard as he could, he managed to get his elbows over the edge of the 'fresher doorway and inelegantly levered himself up. The door control was on the opposite side of the opening; he had to reach across with water slapping in his face to hit the control button. At last the door slid shut and Obi-Wan collapsed down against the slanting wall, gasping for breath.

Water trickled along the walls and floor of the room, sloshing back and forth with each motion of the tri-phib. Obi-Wan could still hear rushing and splashing sounds from the rest of the ship, but they were beginning to fade as all the open space was filled up. He was safe in the 'fresher, for the moment; all the compartments of the ship were designed so they could be sealed off if necessary. But a soft creaking reminded him that the ship was sinking ever faster through the cold water, and eventually the pressure would become too much even for the Calamarian tri-phib. The 'fresher, along with any other air-filled compartments, would crumple like a used drink-bulb.

Somehow, he had to get the ship back to the surface. That meant sealing off the hole in the hull and getting the engines functional again. Obi-Wan didn't know if it would be possible to fix the damage to the small ship, but he knew he would have to start by freeing his hands. 

He studied the binders around his wrists: smooth rings of a shell-like material molded neatly to his arms, flowing into each other as if they had grown that way. And they had, Obi-Wan realized; he had seen artifacts made of the same material in one of the workshops HaruOOo had shown him. Apparently the stuff became malleable when it was treated with a light electric current. He had wondered at the time if a trickle of Force would accomplish the same thing, but he never had a chance to try it. And now he couldn't reach the Force.

Again the thought rose that his disability might be permanent. Obi-Wan smothered the fear and centered himself as well as he could under the circumstances, calling the Force to himwith all his might. Nothing. But he did notice an odd sensation, like a trembling in his throat . . .

Abruptly, he realized that the collar around his neck was vibrating. As his eyes flew open in surprise, the vibration stopped. He reached for the Force again and felt the same faint tingle.

It was the _collar_ that was keeping him from accessing the Force! There was nothing wrong with him after all. Obi-Wan sighed with relief. All he had to do was get the collar off, and he would be fine.

But he had merely exchanged one impossible task for another. How could he remove the collar? When he felt around it, it seemed to be made of the same material as the wrist and ankle binders. He could think of no source of electrical current that would let him remove any of them. Very few of the tri-phib's systems were electrical, so he couldn't simply cannibalize the door controls or the lights that still shone steadily from the ceiling.

If he could get to the tools stored in the control console, some of them might help him. But the groaning of the ship was getting louder, warning him that he'd better not open the 'fresher door unless he was prepared to deal with a flood of water bursting inward under high pressure. 

Frowning thoughtfully, Obi-Wan tried once more to use the Force. This time he focused deliberately on the controls for the bath spigots, trying to turn them just a little. He noticed that the vibration of the collar intensified as his concentration narrowed.

The collar had to work on the same principle as the Force-reactive crystals that grew in the volcanic beds near the Bavwauu colony. Probably the collar actually contained some of the crystals, which were resonating and absorbing the Force as he called upon it. And resonance, Obi-Wan reasoned, was always strongly dependent on frequency. If he could somehow change the frequency of the Force he was accessing, maybe he could get around the crystals.

He had never heard of anyone doing such a thing, but he tried anyway. He stared at the spigots and tried thinking high, shrill thoughts first, then deep rumbling bass tones. None of it seemed to make any difference to the collar. Perhaps he couldn't change frequencies at all; it might be part of his individual Force-signature, something beyond his conscious control.

Well then, if he was exploring the analogy of vibrations, perhaps he could change the amplitude instead. If he made the crystals resonate strongly enough, they might overload and break down. But how could he do that if he couldn't actually touch the Force around him? His own reserves of energy wouldn't be enough . . .

. . . unless he added to them somehow.

Obi-Wan's face heated as he remembered his talk with Qui-Gon on Alderaan, just a few months earlier. That had been the most boring mission he'd ever been on as a padawan, yet it some ways it was the most significant. His view of his master had changed forever on that day, and so had his relationship with the Force.

He had done some experiments on his own, as Qui-Gon had suggested, and he recalled the way the Force could rise up so strongly within him, like a blazing fire. Would that kind of energy be enough to overload the crystals? 

It was worth a try, he decided. He couldn't think of anything else that would work. For once, he had all the privacy he could wish for -- and truly, he had only to think of his master in _that_ way and he was ready to reach into his pants and go to work.

He hoped Qui-Gon was all right and not trapped somewhere, hurt or drowning -- no, he wouldn't think about that. He had to get out of his own predicament first, and then he could help Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan tugged the waist of his pants down to his thighs and leaned back against the slope of the wall, closing his eyes.

He pictured his master's back, as he had seen it in the dim light of the sleep room last night. Muscles rippled on either side of the spine as the tall man bent to strip off his leggings.

And when the leggings descended, more intriguing shapes were revealed. Obi-Wan stroked himself faster as he thought of doing to his master the things he had only read about so far. He would press himself against that gleaming skin, let his hardness rest between the firm globes . . .

He felt the Force rising within him, and the collar around his neck began to hum.

Obi-Wan imagined kissing his master's back, a fervent pressing of his lips to let Qui-Gon know of his admiration. Perhaps he would even lick up the nubbled spine. He had always thought that sounded a little strange, licking another person's skin, but he felt certain that Qui-Gon would taste delicious.

He remembered the moment last night when Qui-Gon had turned, and he had glimpsed what nestled between his master's thighs. Not that he had never seen It before, but Qui-Gon had been more circumspect recently, and Obi-Wan hadn't looked closely before. Last night, for the barest instant, he had gotten a clear view of the sweet shaft of flesh growing from a thicket of curling hair.

He imagined touching It, stroking as he stroked himself. Would Qui-Gon groan at his touch? Obi-Wan groaned experimentally, but the sound seemed small and strange in the echoing 'fresher, inside a sinking ship -- he ruthlessly turned his mind back to more erotic thoughts.

Definitely Qui-Gon would groan, he decided. Perhaps Qui-Gon would ask him to take It in his mouth. That was harder to imagine, and not quite so arousing, so Obi-Wan reversed the scenario. Qui-Gon would kneel before him, running a hand lightly down his ribs as he sometimes did when checking for injuries. But this touch would be more lingering and intimate. Qui-Gon would brush his fingers down to Obi-Wan's hips and then inward, taking the padawan's erection in hand -- just like that, yes -- in his large, warm palm, and he would dip his head downward . . .

Obi-Wan arched against the wall, panting. The collar was thrumming against his throat, against his pulse, as if his heart had gone into hyperdrive.

And Qui-Gon would lick, oh, yes . . .

Obi-Wan lifted his hands for just a moment to swipe his tongue across the back of his knuckles. Qui-Gon's tongue would feel just like that, only down there, where he wanted and needed it. The collar felt hot against his skin.

And Qui-Gon would draw him in. Obi-Wan pulled on himself, trying to imagine it -- the heat, the wetness and suction. It must be wonderful. It _would_ be wonderful, someday.

His mind took off on flights of its own, flashing images past his inner eye almost too fast for him to register: Qui-Gon pressing down above him, huge and warm; Qui-Gon lifting him as if he weighed nothing, spreading his legs and pressing in between them; Qui-Gon with his head arched back and his face blurred in ecstasy; Qui-Gon crying out in his lovely warm, rich voice.

Obi-Wan's own voice cried out, and this time he was too absorbed to be self-conscious about it. The collar was burning and shaking against his neck, and his hand was burning and trembling upon his shaft, and the Force was rising within him -- the Force was building to a peak along with his own pleasure . . .

Obi-Wan froze, his spine arched into a bow, as the sweet spasm came over him. A moment later, his pleasured cries turned to yelps of pain. The collar really _was_ burning him! Still spurting helplessly, he raised his bound hands to his neck --

And the thing came away in pieces in his grasp. The power of the Force had shattered the crystals and melted the pearly matrix that held them.

Obi-Wan gaped for a moment at what he had done. The Force was still singing through his body, seeming louder than ever for the silence he had just experienced.

Then a loud, ominous cracking noise from somewhere on the ship roused him to what he still _had_ to do. Free his hands and feet. Get out of this 'fresher. Fix the ship. Find Qui-Gon and save him from whatever the Avoorn had done to him. And get off this soaking planet.


	12. Chapter 12

It took Obi-Wan a few minutes to figure out how to loosen his bindings with the Force. Instead of softening into the nice malleable substance HaruOOo had demonstrated, they melted into a gooey liquid that ran along his arms and stuck to the fine hairs on his legs. But they weren't restraining him anymore, and that was good enough.

Next he turned to the door, with some apprehension. He had no breathers on him; he was deeply regretting disobeying Qui-Gon's orders never to leave the ship without a full complement of three spares in his beltpouch. There had been three on the recharger when he rushed out to his master's aid, but would they have been shaken free by the turbulence of the inrushing water? If Obi-Wan couldn't find a breather when he left this compartment, it might be a long time before he got any air. Apparently those physio-control techniques would be coming in useful after all.

He breathed deeply for a full minute to hyper-oxygenate before palming the door panel, and then he had to override two levels of safety warnings telling him that the water level and water pressure were very high on the other side of that door. As soon as the door slid aside, water began to burst inward. It took a considerable amount of Force and muscle-power for him to push past the gushing flow. By the time he got the door closed again, the volume of air in the 'fresher had been reduced by more than half -- but it was still there if he had to retreat for a breath.

He swam out into the main compartment, which looked strange underwater and sideways, with the lights gone all green and dim. The recharger was not only empty, but gone -- ripped away from its mounting on the wall. Rather than waste time on disappointment, he moved quickly to the control console, blessing the design that allowed almost all the systems to work even while fully immersed.

Holding onto the pilot's chair and floating sideways next to the console, he tried first to start the water engines, and was unsurprised when they failed. But the nature of the failure gave him some diagnostic information, and he called up those displays. The second had been telling the truth when he claimed he had crippled the ship's "flukes." There was something -- Obi-Wan imagined a large lump of the shell-stuff -- blocking the motion of the impeller blades, and some of the blades had been sheared away entirely. The water engines would never run again without extensive repairs.

The jet engines that powered the tri-phib in space and in thinner atmospheres were still intact, but they couldn't function underwater. The attitude thrusters were likewise unbroken but useless. The lift bladders were empty of water but half-crushed by the pressure; even at full capacity, they couldn't compensate for a flooded ship. One thing that _would_ be useful was the set of pumps responsible for equalizing the pressure inside the ship. If Obi-Wan could find a way to seal the hull, he could pump out the water and replace it with air from the reserve tanks. The living compartments themselves could act as supplemental lift bladders.

Starting with the one opening in the hull that was easily controlled, he closed the water lock in the ship's belly. He would have to visit the air pocket in the 'fresher before he could do anything about the hole the Avoorn had made; it would probably be his last chance to breathe until the pumps got to work. But as he was turning away from the lock controls, something caught his eye: a breather had gotten trapped in the gap between the wall and the control console.

Obi-Wan snatched it free, delighted to find that it was fully-charged and not the half-used one that he had spit out when he was tossed into the ship. With enough air to keep him going even through physical exertions, his chances of getting this ship back to the surface had just about doubled.

He went to the breach in the hull to take a look, noting that the water on the other side was completely black and getting colder by the minute. The hole was roughly circular, and nearly half his armspan across. He couldn't think of any moveable object on the ship large enough to plug it.

But there _was_ something that could cover it. Obi-Wan swam to the bedroom, where he had seen . . . yes, there was the blanket still rippling softly in the currents in the corner of the room. The thick, Calamarian, _waterproof_ blanket! It was large enough to cover the hole, and smooth enough to bond well to an adhesive. Now he just had to find an adhesive that would actually work underwater.

Fifteen minutes later, having used up all the resin in the toolbox, most of the skin-sealer in the medical kit, and some of the goo he'd coaxed off of his arms with the Force, Obi-Wan was satisfied that the hole was thoroughly covered. The blanket wasn't strong enough to withstand much of a pressure differential, though; the fabric itself would rip even if the edges remained glued to the hull. But he could probably have the pumps reduce the pressure inside to at least a little below the ambient water pressure, which would let the craft begin to rise slowly on its own.

He had to trample more safety interlocks in order to persuade the pumps to vent _all_ of the air reserve into the main compartment. Since air was extremely compressible under pressure and water wasn't, that meant the air that had been gathered at atmospheric pressure during the last exchange would now fill up only a fraction of the main compartment. Obi-Wan managed to conserve a little by tipping the ship back upright and freeing the air trapped in the 'fresher. Then he closed the doors on the 'fresher and sleep room and left them full of water with only a small air bubble in each. A little judicious reprogramming of the pumps persuaded them to lower the pressure in the two sealed rooms while leaving it near the outside pressure in the main compartment. Under these manipulations, the tri-phib began to rise again through the chill, dark waters.

Another alarm was triggered when the craft's rate of rise exceeded the safety limits for human passengers. Obi-Wan cut it off ruthlessly; he would be responsible for keeping his own blood from boiling. As the pressure outside the ship dropped, he had more and more of the water pumped from the main compartment, until the air pocket up at the ceiling was large enough for him to pop up and take occasional breaths. He tucked the half-used breather carefully into his beltpouch; he would need it later.

At intervals, he tried to reach Qui-Gon's comlink -- which was still unresponsive -- or the transport waiting in orbit above the planet. Apparently the ship was too deep for the signal to get through, but he triggered the automated distress call anyway. _I'm coming, Master,_ he sent through the Force, hoping that Qui-Gon would sense the call somehow even if he couldn't respond.

According to the chronometer, it was nearly three hours since Qui-Gon had left the ship that morning, and two hours since something had gone wrong. Assuming that Qui-Gon was still alive and still underwater, Obi-Wan had just over an hour to find his master before his last breather would run out. But it would take him many times that long to swim from the continental shelf to the Bavwauu colony, especially if he had to stay in the turbulent surface waters. He _had_ to get this ship moving somehow, or there would be no hope for Qui-Gon at all.

Obi-Wan's last idea was to try the jet engines. Obviously the combustion reaction wouldn't work properly underwater, or at these kinds of pressures -- but the engines also had fans, intended for cooling in certain kinds of atmospheres. Those fans might work as low-power impellers, if only Obi-Wan could get them going. He suspected that this sort of use would destroy the fans sooner or later; the question was how far he could get before they fell apart. If he waited until the ship was in shallower water, where the pressure wasn't so high . . . _maybe_ it would get him to Qui-Gon's side in time.

By the third time he had to override the safety programming, Obi-Wan was beginning to wish the Calamarians hadn't made this ship _quite_ so smart. The ship didn't want to start its air engines underwater; it didn't want to run the fans when the engines were not running, or even warm; it didn't want the fans to turn at the speed he chose. He ran through menu after menu, pushing buttons and reading warning messages until his lungs burned and he had to pop up to the ceiling and breathe. But by the time the water outside the ship began to lighten and the edge of the continental shelf appeared, Obi-Wan had the fans spinning slowly. The ship began to push forward through the water.

Obi-Wan tinkered with the fan speed, making the ship go faster until his instincts warned him that the fan blades would buckle if he pushed them any harder. At this rate, it would take him perhaps half an hour to reach the colony. He would be stretching Qui-Gon's air reserve, even assuming he could find his master right away. And even if he got to Qui-Gon in time, it seemed likely the Avoorn would not welcome his presence -- especially considering that two of them had just tried to kill him.

He was sorting through the toolbox, searching for anything that could be used as an underwater weapon against very large opponents, when the comm chimed. He splashed through the water -- now waist deep in the main compartment -- and slapped a hand down on the console. "Master?"

There was a pause. "Master Jinn? Are you there?" It was the pilot of their transport.

Obi-Wan sank into the seat before the console, forcing himself to speak calmly. "No, this is Padawan Kenobi."

"We're receiving a distress signal. Are you all right? Where is Master Jinn?"

"I'm . . . not injured. We've had a problem here. Our hosts just attempted to murder me and sink this tri-phib. I don't know what's happened to Master Qui-Gon; I haven't spoken to him in nearly three hours. Can you get a fix on his comlink from up there?"

Another long pause. "No, we get nothing. Are you certain it's still working?"

"I'm not certain of anything." Obi-Wan started to descend into dark musings, then shook himself. "I managed to save the tri-phib, but I doubt it will ever fly again."

"Do you need a pickup? We don't have any other craft capable of landing in the water, but we can get close enough for you to meet us halfway." The pilot had dealt with Jedi long enough to have an idea how high they could jump.

"Not just yet," Obi-Wan returned slowly. "I must find out what happened to Qui-Gon first, and help him if I can. But we may need to take you up on that offer at short notice. Stay on alert. And keep trying that comlink."

"We'll be ready."

"Kenobi out." Obi-Wan checked the chronometer again, wishing he could get even a faint sense of how his master was doing or where he was. All the padawan had to guide him was a formless urgency that might be coming from his own fears as easily as from the Force. He knew Qui-Gon would have told him to trust his feelings, but that was hard to do when his feelings were vague and full of foreboding.

All he could think to do was to get there as soon as possible and be ready for anything. Grimly, Obi-Wan turned the fan speed up another notch and aimed the tri-phib toward the colony.


	13. Chapter 13

The cooling fans might be a part of the tri-phib's jet engines, but they had never been intended to provide propulsion -- especially not underwater. Obi-Wan was pushing them to their limit, and he could hear them laboring, could feel the uneven vibrations as the fan blades slowly deformed. But he could feel the Force urging him on more clearly now. He might not be able to sense Qui-Gon directly, but _something_ was telling him to hurry. A soft thread of instinct guided him a little to the south of the shortest path to the colony, and he followed it without question.

He was still several klicks from the colony when a spiking danger sense caught at him and he reached to kill the fans. A moment later, the ship's proximity alarm went off. Obi-Wan studied the scanner, wondering if there was any point in bringing the tri-phib's weapons online. The energy weapons would be little use underwater, but the ship had a limited supply of projectiles as well. They weren't easy to aim, however, especially not for a target that was close by and fast-moving.

But the scans showed only one Avoorn near the ship. A rather small Avoorn, at that -- Obi-Wan started as he recognized HaruOOo. The youngster swam cautiously closer to the tri-phib, keeping slightly below the level of the ship in a gesture Obi-Wan realized was meant to indicate harmlessness. 

Then a strange sound echoed through the hull of the ship. It repeated once before Obi-Wan recognized it.

"Ohhh-BiwaAAu," HaruOOo said a third time.

Obi-Wan flipped on the ship's external speakers. He had no idea what had happened to his translator, but perhaps he could manage a few simple words. "HaruOOo," he intoned as well as he could.

The small Avoorn circled away from the ship, then drew in close once more. "Chehhh-daIIi," he called, the high notes almost inaudible through the hull.

At first Obi-Wan thought it was just another address for himself, until he realized there was no way an Avoorn could manage the glottals in Qui-Gon's name. HaruOOo was talking about his master! "Take me to him," he said through the speakers, then cursed as he remembered the words weren't being translated. "Aawa eiiraUU EEwaau," he sang, sliding up and down the scale.

HaruOOo stilled, his fluke-skirts flattening uncertainly.

Obi-Wan tried again, his hands working the speakers' volume and pitch controls to add inflections. "Aawa eiiraUU EEwaau." He knew he could never get the harmonics and overtones right; HaruOOo would have to grasp his meaning just from the fundamental tones. 

Suddenly the young Avoorn flipped his flukes and turned, swimming away at an angle. He paused and looked back a moment towards the tri-phib, then started off once more decisively.

He was going to lead Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon! Exultant, the padawan started the fans up again -- only to hear them groan and clank as the blades gave way at last. Either the sudden stop or his forceful attempt at restarting had been too much for them. The ship was now crippled for both air and water travel.

HaruOOo stopped and swam back to the ship, looking puzzled at the strange noises. Obi-Wan thumped a fist on the console in frustration, then pushed himself out of the seat. He wasn't going to give up now! Pulling the last, half-used breather from his belt pouch, he opened the lock in the belly of the ship and headed down the steps.

He couldn't speak to HaruOOo at all without the help of the ship's amplifiers, but the other day he had amused his new friend by demonstrating a few human hand signals. He gave the young Avoorn a thumbs-up sign to indicate his gratitude, then held his hands out and made grasping motions: _Give_.

They had done this before; HaruOOo sidled close and Obi-Wan stretched out along the top of the Avoorn's broad head. He held his hands down near HaruOOo's mouth, and a pair of tentacles wrapped tightly around his wrists. He grimaced as they pressed against the bruises left by the binders and by the chieftain's less friendly grasp, but he would endure much worse if necessary to save Qui-Gon.

Then they were moving, surging through the water much faster than Obi-Wan could have traveled by himself. HaruOOo angled south of the colony and down toward the sea floor. As they swung wide around a series of volcanic vents, Obi-Wan realized they were heading for the famous crystal beds.

 

Time was running out for Qui-Gon. He had wasted precious minutes breaking away enough of the crystals so that he could reach his wrist below the cuff. The work was slow enough that he had even considered trying to go through his forearm above the band, but he doubted the crystal was strong enough to cut bone. The elbow might work, but it would bleed more. He wouldn't do Obi-Wan much good if he bled to death before even finding the boy. And he thought the wrist would go faster, if he could just reach it. 

So he tore his shirt and wrapped the layers around his free hand and broke three crystals free until he could reach the trapped hand. The joining of the cuff to the rocks of the sea floor appeared unbreakable even at a closer look; it would have to be the hand after all. He started cutting at the back of the wrist, planning to leave the major blood vessels until the last. Even the smaller veins along the top of his hand were enough to fill the water around him with a cloud of blood.

And it hurt. Despite his mental disciplines, the pain was like nothing he'd ever known. Qui-Gon had suffered his share of severe injuries, but always before he'd had the Force to turn to. He could release his pain into that Living embrace, or in the worst cases even cut off the nerve function to the injured area. Now, neither of those options was available to him. All he could do was breathe steadily and keep going.

He was down to the cartilage when breathing became difficult and he realized his air had run out. He stopped cutting and reached into his belt pouch for the last spare. In the moment when his head was raised, a shadowy movement caught his eye.

Aquatic carnivores were circling out there in the dusky light, drawn by the taste of blood in the water. Qui-Gon had read a little about these predators in his sparse briefing; they were three to four meters long, perpetually hungry, and aggressive in seeking prey. Probably the only reason they hadn't attacked already was that they were unfamiliar with the taste of human blood. 

Qui-Gon reached down and sorted through the crystals he had broken off to find the one which had a sharp point but no good edge. He had discarded it as useless for cutting, but it might work as a weapon. It would have to be a last resort, however; if he cut one of the predators, the others would know the new blood in the water was from one of their kind. It might set off a feeding frenzy, or they might turn on him in revenge -- it depended on the exact nature of these creatures, a detail which hadn't been included in the briefing.

Setting the stabbing crystal carefully by his knee, he returned to his cutting. He was hampered by the thickness of his makeshift saw. The crystal couldn't reach between the ends of the bones that met in his wrist. He might be able to break the bones free, or at least pull them apart enough to cut between, but he needed more leverage. It would have been easy enough with the Force at his command, but now he was reduced to twisting the wrist one way and the other, digging as far in as the crystal would go.

He was missing the touch of the Force in more ways than one, and he wanted the inhibiting collar gone. The Force had been comforter, guide, and early warning system since his earliest childhood, and now he had none of that to help him. He had no strength but his own to draw upon in bearing the pain he was inflicting on himself. He had no way of knowing whether such drastic steps were truly necessary to help his padawan -- or whether it was already too late for Obi-Wan. And he had nothing to warn him if one of those predators should approach from behind . . .

Something touched his leg and Qui-Gon kicked out violently, catching one of the carnivores on the side of the head. It swam away half-dazed, and the others drew back a little at the sudden motion. But before Qui-Gon could return to his task, another one was darting in to try its luck. Then a third came close, and the circle began to draw tighter around him.

He fended them off with kicks and the occasional well-placed punch for as long as he could, but gradually they began to realize he had a weak spot if they approached from a certain angle. He could only twist around so much, and when one arrowed in from ahead and to his left, where his right-handed punch would be weakest, he saw no alternative but to stab it with the pointed crystal.

The predator pulled away sharply, trying to turn as if to catch whatever had bitten it. A stream of dark green blood spilled from its wound, diffusing through the dim waters. The patterns of the other predators began to change. One darted in and butted the wounded one hard, causing a new gust of blood to billow through the water. Another soared right over Qui-Gon's head, battering him with its tail-fluke as it tore a chunk of skin from its bleeding fellow.

A riot of feeding was about to start, and Qui-Gon would be caught at the heart of the conflict. He gripped his crystal and waited for the beginning of the end.

Unexpectedly another, larger shape came pushing through the crowd, butting into carnivores and knocking them aside with superior momentum. It was an Avoorn -- a young one -- helping Qui-Gon for reasons he couldn't begin to understand.

Then a smaller figure drew his eye, gleaming white as it sped through the water toward him. Qui-Gon's heart lifted when he recognized his padawan, but he stared in alarm as Obi-Wan swam directly up to the wounded predator. Laying one hand on the afflicted creature's head, the boy gave it a small push. Still dazed, the predator began to swim away, trailed by a stream of hungry followers.

The whites of Obi-Wan's eyes showed as he came to his master's side. Neither of them could talk properly, but there was nothing that truly needed to be said. Qui-Gon dropped his crystal and laid his scratched and bleeding hand upon his padawan's shoulder, squeezing warmly. He felt dizzy with relief to see Obi-Wan safe and well.

Or perhaps the dizziness was more than simple relief. Obi-Wan pulled the breather from his mouth and pushed it sharply at his master, until Qui-Gon realized that his own had run out and its indicator was showing red. He accepted Obi-Wan's in its place, waiting for the padawan to pull a spare from his belt. But Obi-Wan merely clamped his lips shut and turned to examine Qui-Gon's trapped hand.

Qui-Gon nudged his apprentice and gestured at the boy's belt. Obi-Wan shook his head and ignored him. Angrily, Qui-Gon pulled the breather from his mouth and held it out. Obi-Wan took it, drew a single lungful, then shoved it back in Qui-Gon's mouth with a glare.

Qui-Gon subsided for the moment, but watched his padawan closely for any signs of distress.

Obi-Wan reached down into the crystal bed where his master's hand was trapped, frowning as he felt around the cuff.

"Stuck," Qui-Gon bubbled around the breather in his mouth. "Cut free."

Obi-Wan scowled again, then his eyes widened and he spun around, lashing out sharply with one booted foot. He caught an incoming predator hard enough to make the creature thrash back and forth for several seconds before it swam away, thoroughly dissuaded. Most of the other predators had already disappeared in pursuit of their wounded fellow, trailed in turn by the young Avoorn that had appeared with Obi-Wan.

"Cut free," Qui-Gon insisted again. 

Obi-Wan shook his head. Instead he reached down and wrapped both hands around his master's bloody wrist, closing his eyes in concentration. Nothing happened, as far as Qui-Gon could tell, and bubbles trickled from the boy's lips as he hissed in frustration. Obi-Wan began to jerk at the few remaining crystals in the bed, grimacing with effort until he apparently found some way of using the Force to help him snap them off.

After two more crystals had come free, Qui-Gon nudged his student with the breather, and Obi-Wan grudgingly took another breath. Then the boy reached again for Qui-Gon's hand, and this time something was different. The binder around the master's wrist softened enough that Obi-Wan could pull it away from the surrounding rock.

Qui-Gon lifted his bloodied hand free and stared at it in astonishment. But Obi-Wan was already pulling at him, drawing him up away from the crystal bed.

A few meters above the sea floor, Obi-Wan stopped him and frowned at the thing on his forearm. It softened further and then pulled cleanly away, taking only a few of Qui-Gon's hairs with it. Obi-Wan tossed it aside and wrapped some trailing strips of Qui-Gon's shirt around the gaping wound. Then the apprentice jerked a thumb upward. Qui-Gon nodded and they rose together toward the surface.


	14. Chapter 14

It was an ugly day on the surface of the ocean, with wind and rain lashing at the waves. Qui-Gon blinked in surprise at the cloud-filtered light, but gladly pulled the breather from his mouth and filled his lungs with fresh air. Obi-Wan panted a short distance away, bobbing up and down out of phase with Qui-Gon as the ocean swells passed them.

"You were trying to cut off your hand!" Obi-Wan accused.

"It was the only way I could think of to get free," Qui-Gon returned mildly. 

"But . . . your _hand_!"

"It was a better option than drowning, Padawan. And I was worried about you. What happened?"

Obi-Wan leaned back against the waves, tipping his face to the gray sky. "Two of them -- the chieftain and his second -- tried to sink the ship, with me in it." He glanced over a little sheepishly at Qui-Gon. "I managed to get it back up to the surface, but the engines are pretty much destroyed."

"You're alive, that's the important part," Qui-Gon pointed out. "And so am I. How did you get that thing off my wrist, anyway?"

"It's a substance that melts when a current is applied -- including a current of Force."

"I see." Qui-Gon spat water as a rogue wave slapped him in the face. "I can't seem to access the Force at the moment."

"I know. It's the collar. They put one on me, too."

Qui-Gon moved closer to his apprentice and reached out to tip Obi-Wan's chin upward. "You should have used a lower setting on your saber," he said softly, studying the burns on his padawan's neck.

"Yes, Master," said the boy in a rather stifled tone.

"Can you get this off me?" Qui-Gon asked, gesturing at the collar.

"Not with the Force; the crystals inside block it. That's how the collar works. I did bring an electro-knife with me, but it won't work underwater." Obi-Wan reached for his belt. "I suppose it will work here, although it's still a bit wet with all this rain. Perhaps we should go back to the ship."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I have an idea, something that needs to be done as soon as possible if it's to work."

Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow curiously as he pulled the tool from his belt pouch. "Does it have anything to do with why the Avoorn tried to kill us?" he asked as he bent close to Qui-Gon's neck.

"It wasn't the Avoorn who tried to kill us, Padawan -- only those two individuals. I'm afraid I said something unwise while we were negotiating." Qui-Gon helpfully tilted his chin aside.

"They wanted to kill us for something you _said_?" Obi-Wan demanded. "What did you do, threaten to destroy the planet?" 

"Sarcasm is unbecoming in a Jedi, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan turned on the knife and brought it to a spot just below Qui-Gon's ear. 

"I used a careless word to describe the relationship between the chieftain and his second," Qui-Gon explained, trying to ignore the proximity of the humming blade. "The translator compounded my error by adding an inflection that implied a sexual relationship between the two of them."

"Is something wrong with that?"

"Same-gender sexual relations are taboo to the Avoorn." Qui-Gon sighed. "I should have realized that; it's fairly common in societies that devalue femininity and depersonalize females. The perception is that for two males to be sexually involved, one of them must take on a role traditionally reserved for females. And if the feminine role is inferior, that means that one of the males is voluntarily lowering himself, giving up a form of power that is closely held and defended. Implying sexual relations between males is a profound insult in many primitive cultures."

"Profound enough for murder?"

"Ah, but I made a second mistake, Padawan, an even graver one: I was right." Qui-Gon paused. "Is that knife doing anything?"

"Yes, but it's slower than I expected. I'll be through on this side in another few seconds, then I think I'll have to do the other side as well." Obi-Wan leaned closer. "There; got it. Can you put your hand up here and make sure the ends don't fuse together again? Yes, like that." He turned his master around in the water and brought the knife up under the opposite ear. "So you mean the chieftain and second really _are_ , er, together?"

"I believe so, but for them it's a deadly secret. They would both lose enormous prestige if it were revealed. Probably they would lose their positions as leaders, and perhaps even their membership in the pod as well. They would be ridiculed and outcast. And I, apparently, could bring all of this upon them with a careless word."

"So they thought they had to get rid of you."

"And you also, by extension. They attempted to make it look like an accident, but the arrangements were made in haste."

"They said it would look like the tri-phib was sunk by a rival pod," Obi-Wan supplied.

"So now they are twice condemned, as illicit lovers and attempted murderers."

"And this is part of your plan?" Obi-Wan said doubtfully.

"Not precisely, but I will make use of it." 

The humming of the electro-knife changed pitch, and Obi-Wan pulled it free just in time as the two halves of the collar fell apart.

Qui-Gon tipped his head back, eyes closing as he felt the Force flood in again. "Ahhh . . ."

Obi-Wan moistened his lips. "Better?" he asked, his voice a little high. 

"Oh, yes." Qui-Gon looked down at his wrapped wrist. "I will take care of this when we return to the transport; it can wait at least that long." In his other hand, he held up the breather. "How much air is left in this?"

"Er . . ." Obi-Wan blinked and swallowed hard. "Not much. Perhaps half an hour. The others were lost when the ship sank."

Qui-Gon detached the translator from one of the used breathers on his belt. "Well. Best you should go back to the ship now --"

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in dismay. "Master!"

Qui-Gon's eyebrow rose, but he merely continued, "And contact the transport. I want the pilot to be ready to get us out of here at a moment's notice."

"I already spoke to her; she's ready. We should stay together, Master."

"Obi-Wan." Ominously.

"We can watch each other's backs."

"We have only one breather, and that only partially filled."

"I can hold my breath long enough to reach the colony. It's no further than the ship is. And they keep air in their buildings."

Qui-Gon hesitated, beginning to be swayed.

"I'll follow you even if you tell me not to," Obi-Wan declared mulishly.

"Padawan!"

"You can scold me for it later, if you want. But you know I'm right -- we should stay together."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Very well. But you will follow my lead, Obi-Wan. Watch closely for my signal."

The boy nodded, and the two Jedi started off across the tops of the waves, not planning to dive until they were nearly above the colony.

 

The grand hall of the Bavwauu was busy, crowded with Avoorn who had come to speak to their chieftain. BaswiIIrn was watching the supplicants, waiting for the right moment to announce that the Cheh-dai thief had attempted to steal from them.

Two small figures darted into the hall, moving faster than should be possible for land-swimmers. The larger one took a quick look at the assembled Avoorn and intoned, "Out," waving one of his fluke/tentacles lightly before his face. The hall emptied in short order while BaswiIIrn and WeiihuOOo stared with flattened flukes.

The smaller Cheh-dai took up a dominant position in the room, up near the air at the ceiling. BaswiIIrn stared between the two in confusion. Was it possible the smaller one was the leader of the two?

But surely it was _not_ possible for them to be alive -- either of them! If that had gone wrong somehow, there was no telling what else the Cheh-dai might be capable of.

When the hall was empty of all but BaswiIIrn and his fluke-mate, the larger Cheh-dai swam forward to a position just above the chieftain's gaze.

"You have attempted to murder two Jedi -- two who could have brought riches and prosperity to your people," the land-swimmer sang.

WeiiHuOOo's fluke-skirts trembled flat against his spine with fear and anger.

"You did this because you have a secret you wish no one to know. But now you have _two_ secrets. Shall we tell your people that you are mates as well as would-be murderers?"

At the curl of a tentacle from his Chieftain, WeiihuOOo unhooked the stun device from his neck-jewelry and began to circle carefully behind the larger Cheh-dai.

The smaller one arrowed down from the ceiling, moving impossibly fast as if to head-butt WeiihuOOo. Then, at the last moment, he reversed his body so that his rear flukes, covered in their hard protective skins, struck the Avoorn on either side of his hearing membrane. WeiihuOOo lurched, dazed by the blow and the ringing in his sinuses. Weakly, he spiraled down toward the floor, trying to catch his balance again.

Then the small Cheh-dai headed for BaswiIIrn as if he would strike the chieftain as well. But the larger land-swimmer held up a single fluke, and the attack froze in mid-motion. The young Cheh-dai hung in place, staring at BaswiIIrn yet displaying perfect obedience to the other's gesture.

BaswiIIrn knew which was the leader, now. Loftily ignoring the small one, he turned to the other. "What do you want?" he rumbled in deepest, angriest harmonics.

"In return for keeping your secret, I and my offspring wish to leave freely. We will make one visit to your crystal beds, this very day. We will take away only what we can carry. And when we are gone, no Jedi will trouble you again until another generation has passed among the Avoorn."

BaswiIIrn considered. The only witness to this conversation was his fluke-mate. If he told the Cheh-dai to go to the crystal beds, then warned the Bavwauu that they were being robbed, he might yet manage to silence the two troublesome land-swimmers while appearing like a savior to his people.

But it would be too easy for the treacherous Cheh-dai to shout out his secrets as the crowd gathered. No, far better to let the land-swimmers take what they wanted and leave. BaswiIIrn might not get the weapons he had hoped for, but at least he would be free of the trouble these Cheh-dai brought with them.

"Go," Baswiirn moaned. "I will tell my people not to stop you this day, but if you or any other Cheh-dai is seen in these waters --"

"Not until your offspring's offspring are fully grown; only then will any of my people return."

"Then begone." BaswiIIrn turned away in disgust. As he moved, he caught the barest glimpse of a small fluke-skirt whisking out of sight. What was HaruOOo doing back so early from his friends' gathering? BaswiIIrn would have to talk to his offspring and make sure the youngster hadn't heard anything he shouldn't.

And what was the young Cheh-dai doing, waving his small tentacle above his fluke in that manner? BaswiIIrn crimped his tentacles in annoyance. He would be glad to feel the wake of these Cheh-dai.

 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon returned to the little tri-phib at last with two sacks bulging with crystals. They were more than a little short on oxygen from the repeated dives to gather the things, and their hands ached from the work of prying the gems free -- but at least they knew they had gotten part of what they came for, and their mission was not a complete failure.

As Qui-Gon stepped up from the water lock and straightened his back, he stared in amazement at the blanket glued to the wall.

"Er . . . I had to patch the hole somehow," Obi-Wan explained. "It was all I could think of."

"Hole?" Qui-Gon managed faintly.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Big hole." He drew a circle with his hands. "That was how they tried to sink the ship. Well, that and crippling the water engines."

Qui-Gon turned in a slow circle, noticing the small puddles of water that decorated every flat surface. "The entire ship was . . . ?"

"Full of water. Except for the 'fresher; I holed up in there for a while. But I knew I couldn't stay there long, or the compartment would be crushed as the ship went deeper in the trench."

Qui-Gon knew now why he had been so worried about his padawan; he had good reason for it. He didn't need a connection with the Force to know that Obi-Wan would find trouble wherever he went. Sinking weakly into the pilot's chair, Qui-Gon tried to remind himself that the padawan also _surmounted_ trouble wherever he went. It was hard to remember sometimes. "It seems they were successful in sinking the ship, padawan."

"I brought it back up," Obi-Wan said defensively. "I did have to use most of the skin sealant to patch the hull, though."

" _Skin_ sealant?"

"It bonds well underwater. But I used the Calamarian sealant first. There's still a bit of the human adhesive left, if you want to --" Obi-Wan gestured at his master's wrist.

Qui-Gon glanced down at the blood-stained rags wrapped about his forearm. "No, it can wait until we get to the transport." He stood decisively. "Call the captain and ask her to send a shuttle down as near to the surface as she can and lower the ramp. We'll have to jump from the top of the tri-phib."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan reached for the console. "What will you be doing?"

"Packing our things, and getting a clean shirt." Qui-Gon headed for the sleep room.

Obi-Wan nodded briefly and turned to his task, only realizing at the last minute -- "No, don't!"

Too late. Qui-Gon had already palmed the control for the door, and it slid open, releasing a torrent of water that flowed exuberantly out into the main compartment, bowled over the Jedi master in its path, and dragged him a few meters towards the lock in the center of the room.

Obi-Wan stared wide-eyed at the sight of his master looking so pathetic and bedraggled, and he couldn't resist a giggle. Which quickly turned into an outright laugh and became uncontrollable.

Qui-Gon observed the hysterics with a sour gaze, until Obi-Wan gained enough breath control to gasp out, "Sorry, Master. I forgot, really!"

"I suppose you --" Qui-Gon broke off at a strange creaking sound from the ship. "Obi-Wan, why is the ship tilting on its side?" He braced himself on the slowly-sloping deck.

"Oops." Obi-Wan lunged for the console. "We're unbalanced. I'd better pump the water out of the 'fresher, too. Or . . ." A giggle escaped him. "We could just open the door."

"I'll leave that task to you, Padawan," said Qui-Gon, climbing to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. "I find I'm looking forward to being _dry_."


	15. Chapter 15

Obi-Wan roused half-smiling from his reverie to find his master watching him quizzically. "Yes, I did rather enjoy that mission," the padawan said reminiscently. "And it turned out well enough in the end; there are nearly a hundred Jedi carrying sabers with the crystals we brought back from Arawoon."

" _You_ didn't spend two days with your arm immobilized in bacta afterwards."

"True." Obi-Wan glanced for reassurance at his master's left hand, which now bore only the faintest of scars from that incident. "I was busy enough with the meditation exercises you assigned me."

"The direst punishment I could think of for your defiance," Qui-Gon said drily.

"But even that led to my breakthrough in telepathy, so it wasn't _entirely_ dreadful."

Qui-Gon's eyebrow crimped in puzzlement. "But what does all this have to do with your . . . technique for generating Force?"

"Ah." Obi-Wan had too much control over his body to blush, but his eyes dropped shyly. "Well, you thought I had used a saber, and I didn't bother to correct you . . ."

"Used a saber for what?"

"To get the collar off my neck."

Qui-Gon was silent for a long moment, but he apparently still couldn't make the connection. "You're saying you didn't use a saber?"

"Of course not. Both our sabers were locked in a case in the sleep-room, which was flooded. I was stuck in the 'fresher with no breather and almost no tools at hand."

"Obi-Wan, you will have to be more plain. How _did_ you get the collar off?"

The young man coughed. "I reasoned that an overload of Force energy might cause the crystals' resonance to break down. But I had to generate that energy within myself somehow. So I, err . . ." The very tips of his ears began to go pink in spite of himself.

"You masturbated."

Obi-Wan nodded, involuntarily glancing around to see if anyone was in earshot.

"In the 'fresher of a sinking ship." 

"I was fourteen at the time, Master. At that age . . . anytime, anyplace."

Qui-Gon chuckled richly. "Nineteen being infinitely more mature?"

"Well, I am!"

The one good eyebrow began to draw downward. "And that was all it took to get your collar off?"

"Once I built up enough Force to leak past the crystals, the material holding the collar together began to melt. That was how my neck came to be burned." 

"Do you mean to say," Qui-Gon began slowly, "that I could have freed myself inside of fifteen minutes, if I had only . . ." 

"Yes, Master."

"And you never thought to mention this?"

Obi-Wan looked pointedly at Qui-Gon's left hand. "I . . . didn't think you would appreciate hearing it just at the time. And we weren't likely to encounter those crystal-collars anywhere else, so it didn't seem to be a necessary piece of information."

"But now you think you can make use of the same thing in our current situation?"

"There's no reason why it shouldn't work in hyperspace as well as it did inside that collar."

Qui-Gon leaned back slightly against his up-tilted pallet. "I see a flaw in your logic, Padawan. You say the incident with the collar proves that you are generating more _internal_ Force through sexual arousal. But would you not have gotten the same results even if you were calling the Force in from the outside? Perhaps it was your added strength in summoning an external Force which overwhelmed the collar."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I could feel the Force building within me long before the collar broke, Master. If it were coming from outside, I shouldn't have felt anything until after the collar fell apart."

"I see," said Qui-Gon slowly. "You could be right about that."

"Surely it's worth a try," Obi-Wan urged. "If this is all that's needed to heal you . . ."

"You seem very insistent, Padawan."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "I don't like to see you hurting, Master."

"Is that your only reason?"

"Isn't it enough? If we can't do something about that eye, you might end up with a very unpleasant choice between prosthesis or regeneration. Or --" He shut his mouth firmly.

Qui-Gon's eyebrow arched. "Or?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Or, it occurred to me you might make Master Piell's choice." He looked down in shame. "I find the idea . . . doesn't appeal to me, very much."

"Nor to me, Padawan, although I make no assumptions about why Master Piell chose it. If it eases your mind, you might wish to know that my choice in such a case would be regeneration. Unpleasant enough, perhaps, but only temporary. And surely you would have no objection to a few months spent at the Temple with your friends?"

"No, Master," said Obi-Wan in a small voice.

"And I believe we have already established that I need not lose the eye, though it might take me a day or two in healing trance."

"You still wouldn't be able to carry out the mission."

"A mission which you are well able to handle on your own, Obi-Wan. Yet you are most insistent upon trying this idea of yours. Therefore I ask you again: your concern for my health, and for the mission -- are these your only reasons for wanting to have sex with me?"

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and on the exhale he released his embarrassment and anxiety to the Force. "No, Master."

Qui-Gon waited.

"I have desired you ever since I was fourteen, since our conversation on Alderaan," the young man said steadily, eyes on the blanket that covered Qui-Gon's chest. "I believe sex with you would be . . . very enjoyable. I am an adult now, quite capable of granting or denying consent even to you. So the objections you posed on Alderaan no longer seem valid. And I _am_ concerned for your health and your ability to participate on the mission. I wouldn't have asked you to do this simply for my own gratification, nor would I expect you to agree only for that reason."

"Do you think so little of your own charms?" Qui-Gon chided softly.

Obi-Wan looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"No matter. Thank you for your honesty, Obi-Wan."

"But you're going to say no, aren't you?" the young man said glumly.

"I didn't say that. I must think about this carefully, and for that I will need some time alone."

Obi-Wan nodded and stood to leave. The extra weight at his belt reminded him of something else he'd been meaning to tell his master. "Here. I picked it up after the explosion." He unhooked the lightsaber and extended it toward Qui-Gon. "I . . . I used it, by accident. I couldn't find mine quickly enough."

Qui-Gon paused, his hand extended to accept the hilt. "Do you think I would begrudge you the use of it?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "It felt wrong. It made me think of . . . bad things." He couldn't express the feeling of unease that had come over him when he fought with his master's saber.

Qui-Gon's other hand came up, and he wrapped it over Obi-Wan's, curling his fingers close around the weapon. "You did well, Padawan. The ship is safe, and I _will_ recover, either sooner or later."

Obi-Wan nodded unhappily.

Qui-Gon glanced down bemusedly at his bare collarbones disappearing under the light thermal sheet. "Since I have nowhere to keep it just at the moment, would you put the saber in with my other things? And perhaps bring me something to wear? I should like to get out of this bay as soon as I can persuade the droid to let me go."

"Of course, Master." Obi-Wan started to pull his hands free, then paused. He bent hastily and placed a warm kiss on his master's knuckles. "I'll leave you to make your decision now." He managed a smile.

Qui-Gon's eye crinkled fondly. "Thank you, Padawan. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Obi-Wan left the medical bay feeling uncertain about the future, but quite determined that all would be well between him and Qui-Gon no matter what lay ahead.


	16. Chapter 16

Obi-Wan walked slowly through the corridors of the ship towards the quarters he had been sharing with Qui-Gon. His master was right, he realized; he had been deceiving himself. All his rational arguments, so carefully mustered and so dispassionately presented, had been mere camouflage for a more personal desire.

When he reached the small cabin they had been assigned, he drew Qui-Gon's pack out from its strap-down in the closet and rustled through it, savoring his master's spicy scent among the folded clothing. He pulled out a light tunic and a pair of sleep pants to take back to the medbay, then carefully tucked Qui-Gon's saber into an inner pouch. That done, Obi-Wan folded his bunk down from the wall and sat on it, thinking.

In some ways, he recognized, he really hadn't changed much since he was fourteen. He still wanted Qui-Gon in the depths of his heart, but he had been concealing that longing from his master for so long that he had hidden it from himself, as well. 

He flopped back on the bunk and stared at the high ceiling. Over the past few years, he had played at sex with other padawans. His experiences hadn't been extensive, but he supposed they could be called varied.

A smile crept over his face. Yes, "varied" was probably the best word to apply to a group of partners that included one human female, one human male, and one non-human female. His memories of his time with Riennan were vivid, but disjointed; he had been clumsy, and she had been patient. She made a good partner for his first time, and he was glad he had asked her -- but they never really belonged together in the long term.

Bruck had been an enjoyable lover -- and still was, off and on -- but enjoyment was the only real purpose for their liaisons. Obi-Wan had learned a lot, since Bruck was always more than willing to experiment; among other things, Obi-Wan had learned how the channel the extra Force to his lover to increase pleasure. He'd also discovered that he _could_ dissipate sexual Force by levitating things, so long as his partner didn't make him laugh too hard and ruin his concentration. He had thought some of the techniques he learned with Bruck might be useful in healing Qui-Gon, if his master would only agree. But in spite of the fun, and the discoveries, and a surprisingly genuine sense of affection, Obi-Wan knew that what he shared with Bruck was only sex, not love.

It was Bant who had taught Obi-Wan the most about his own feelings and his capacity for love. She had taught him about balancing his own needs against those of another person. And it was also Bant who taught Obi-Wan about heartbreak and how fragile love could be . . .

 

Obi-Wan walked through the Temple at a loose-limbed stroll, trying to keep the fatuous smile off his face. His entire body and soul seemed to be glowing with well-being. It was hard, just at the moment, to believe that anyone could possibly object to a display of happiness. But he reminded himself firmly that not everyone could be as lucky as he was, and he shouldn't rub their faces in that fact.

As soon as he stepped through the door of his quarters, he allowed himself to break into the huge grin that had been tugging at his lips all evening. His master wouldn't mind; Qui-Gon knew exactly what Obi-Wan was smiling about and was happy on the padawan's behalf -- although not as happy as Obi-Wan himself.

Or perhaps Qui-Gon did mind. Certainly he looked stern enough as he turned away from the dataset. "We must talk, Padawan."

Uh-oh. Those words, in that tone, were always a signal of trouble. Obi-Wan carefully folded his hands together inside his sleeves. "Yes, Master?"

Qui-Gon sighed as if he had an unpleasant duty to perform. "I have received complaints from three separate people -- two of them masters -- about your activities in the Water Gardens tonight."

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped. "How did they . . ." Oh, Force, he must have been broadcasting. He thought he had more control than that. Or perhaps it had been Bant whose shielding slipped; he hadn't been in much position to notice at the time. "I didn't realize there were so many people around," he said weakly.

"Regardless of the number of people present, I think you are more than old enough at sixteen to recognize that a public venue is not appropriate for such activities."

"It wasn't _public_ exactly, Master. We were under one of the walkways. No one could see us!" Obi-Wan struggled against the heat that wanted to flood through his face.

"They could feel you through the Force."

"They could have done that from the hallway outside Bant's rooms, if we stayed there."

"The rooms are shielded. And people do not retire to the hallways for peaceful contemplation; they do that in the gardens. You disturbed their meditations."

Obi-Wan gulped. "We couldn't think of anywhere else. Calamarians need to do it underwater --"

"And all Jedi, of any race, are provided with adequate facilities for their needs."

"But Bant shares her swimming room with three other Calamarians! And two of them were, um . . ."

"You could have waited, instead of imposing your sensations upon others."

Obi-Wan looked at the toes of his boots. "Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon studied his padawan. " _Under_ the walkway?"

"Where the fountain runs beneath it. We didn't think anyone would _know_ ," Obi-Wan said, shame-faced.

"Hmm. I see you're getting plenty of practice in your breathing mastery. But you will have to work on other areas of your control, as well." 

Other areas such as controlling his facial expressions, Obi-Wan realized, his blush surfacing at last.

"Obi-Wan. Look at me."

It was hard, but Obi-Wan raised his head and stared at the spot between his master's eyes.

"I can understand your desire to be with your friend --"

"She's more than just a friend," Obi-Wan interrupted earnestly. "We're in love."

"Nevertheless. You must not allow your emotions to spur you to rash behavior."

"Yes, Master."

"However, there are worse places than the Temple for youthful excesses. There's little enough harm done this time."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Wait until noonmeal tomorrow. The rumors will have reached the other padawans by then."

A smile twitched at Qui-Gon's mouth and was quickly suppressed. "That's the other thing I wanted to speak to you about. We won't be attending noonmeal tomorrow."

This time Obi-Wan met his master's gaze directly. "We have a mission?" His heart sank for the first time upon hearing such news. Normally, he was excited to hear of a new assignment.

Qui-Gon nodded. "We are to examine allegations of slavetrading on Dantooine." 

Obi-Wan's mind whirled with impossible ideas. He could ask to stay behind -- No! He hated it when Qui-Gon went on missions without him. Perhaps Bant could come along . . . but her master would never agree to it. Nor would the Council be receptive to a request that the mission be given to someone else.

Everyone would look at Obi-Wan and Bant and see nothing more than two teenagers experiencing love for the first time. They wouldn't see how earth-shattering a separation would be, right now when the two had only just discovered each other. They would claim that it would be good for the young couple to spend some time apart from each other.

"How long will we be gone?" Obi-Wan asked in a strained voice.

"You know I can't foresee that, Padawan. We might have other missions to attend to after this one is over. But I will try to get us back here for at least a short break as soon as possible."

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing against a huge lump in his throat. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, just after dawn. Our transport will be on pad four."

"May I . . ." Obi-Wan's voice failed.

"I've already packed your bags. I'll meet you at the transport in the morning. Go ahead, Obi-Wan. Spend the night with her."

Obi-Wan raised burning eyes and saw genuine compassion in his master's face. It almost destroyed his composure. "Thank you, Master," he whispered, and fled.

 

It was difficult and painful to be apart from Bant. Obi-Wan thought of her and missed her every hour of every day for the first weeks he was away from the Temple. But the mission to Dantooine was a challenging one, requiring close concentration. For part of the time, they were undercover and out of communication with the Temple. By the time they had traced the network of slavers and convinced the Hutt who headed the group to keep his business away from Republic worlds in the future, Obi-Wan realized it had been several days since he thought of Bant.

Then followed another mission, and another without a break. The third mission, to Rhunir, was Obi-Wan's least favorite type: an entrenched civil war with a racial/religious foundation that went back generations. Ever since the time when he was thirteen and had nearly left the Order because he believed he could make a difference in just such a hopeless war, Obi-Wan found such situations especially heartwrenching.

In this case, it appeared that even though both sides had specifically requested a Jedi mediator to help them end the senseless loss of life, what they really wanted was for their own friends to stop dying. No one on either side had any desire to stop killing their perfidious enemies. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan left the day after the cease-fire ended -- both sides claiming the other had broken the truce first -- and hostilities engulfed the planet in warfare once more.

By the time the mission ended, Obi-Wan was heartsick and exhausted to the bone, and he only nodded wearily when Qui-Gon mentioned that they were to have some rest at the Temple before their next assignment.

As soon as they got home, before even unpacking his things, Obi-Wan sought out Bant. Her joy in life and gentle sense of humor were just what he needed to help him release his fears and worries.

But he found that something was different, something was not quite right. Bant was fretting about some harsh comments she had received from her teacher in Intermediate Philosophy, a class that Obi-Wan had started three times but never stayed at the Temple long enough to finish. He waited patiently through her complaints about the teacher, but when he tried to describe the terrible mission to Bant, she didn't seem to understand. She thought it was pointless for him to worry about strangers who were obviously bent upon their own destruction.

Yet Bant was one of the most caring and generous people Obi-Wan knew. Surely she, of all people, should understand that if a Jedi ever stopped caring, he risked turning to the Dark. Obi-Wan knew that sometimes he got too involved in the struggles of those he met during missions, but he'd never expected to have to explain those passions to Bant, who had known him ever since they were initiates together.

Perhaps, he thought, it was just her frustration with the philosophy class. So he left her early that evening, pleading tiredness. But the next day was the same. Bant spoke of her own concerns and the latest Temple rumors, and Obi-Wan had difficulty even pretending to be interested in what she said. Then, when he talked about his missions with Qui-Gon, a blank look came into Bant's silver eyes even though she tried to hide it.

And when they went to the swimming room and locked the door, it was even worse. Not that Obi-Wan was incapable; he had never had that particular problem, although he knew it would probably happen when he got older. But it seemed as if only his body was interested in their activities, not his mind and heart. And since it took a certain amount of creative participation to make interspecies romance successful, Bant wasn't having much fun either. She needed a Force tickle in places Obi-Wan couldn't reach physically. Obi-Wan, in turn, felt that for once he needed a partner who could _kiss_ him.

They parted unsatisfied, and Obi-Wan had the feeling that when they met again in the morning, it would be to dissolve their relationship.

He thought that he was doing a good job of hiding his hurt and profound disillusionment, but apparently it wasn't good enough. Almost as soon as he stepped into their quarters, Qui-Gon asked what was troubling him.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It's Bant," he said in flat tones. He forced out a smile, trying to look grownup and casual about such things. "I think we're breaking up."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Has she found someone else?"

"No. At least -- no. She would have told me. It's just . . . something is missing. That spark. Whatever it was we had before, it's . . . gone." Obi-Wan sighed, staring at the display screen that served as a window in their wall-bound quarters. Qui-Gon could have chosen a view from any of a hundred worlds, yet he always programmed in a scene of Coruscant just outside the Jedi Temple, letting it change in real time.

"Ah. That happens, sometimes," Qui-Gon replied gently.

Obi-Wan scowled at his master. "You think it's because we're just kids, don't you? And we go through _phases_ and never stay interested in anything or anyone for very long."

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "Did I say anything of the sort?"

Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped. "No. I'm sorry, Master. I'm probably not going to be very good company for a while. I just . . . I really thought this would be forever. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know."

"Maybe I _am_ too young. Maybe I really do have a terminally short attention span."

"Age has nothing to do with the validity of your feelings, Obi-Wan. And many an experienced adult has felt a beautiful attraction fade away and die over time." Qui-Gon hesitated a moment before asking, "Did you form a bond with Bant?"

"No." Obi-Wan's mouth folded sadly. "We talked about it, but we decided to wait." They had planned to prove to the world in general -- and their masters in particular -- just how steadfast they could be. But now it seemed that Bant wasn't as steadfast as she had promised. Or perhaps, deep down inside, Obi-Wan was the one who was fickle.

"That's good. It means you can still be friends, once the first disappointment is over." Qui-Gon's voice was soft and understanding.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't think so. I can't imagine sharing a meal with Bant and all our old friends, knowing . . ." He swallowed hard. "She's been my best friend since I was eleven, and now I don't know if I can even stand to talk to her again! I feel so ashamed." He scrubbed at his face angrily, telling himself that he was not even _tempted_ to cry.

"Why should you be ashamed, Padawan? You've done nothing wrong."

"It was supposed to be _forever_ , and we couldn't even make it last for two months once we were apart."

"Obi-Wan, not all relationships are meant to last. Permanence should not be the only measure for judging the success of a partnering. Did you not enjoy your time with Bant?"

Obi-Wan remembered the days of constant anticipation until he could see her again, and the nights of smiling languidly up at the ceilings, and all the delights that came between. "I suppose."

"And did you not learn a great deal?"

"I don't know what I learned." Not to trust his own heart, he suspected. 

"Then perhaps you should meditate on the subject. But consider this, my young Padawan." Qui-Gon gestured at the display as it turned rosy with the slow setting of the sun. "Should the sunset be considered less beautiful because it lasts only a fraction of the day? Or should it be treasured for its brevity and uniqueness?"

"That's different. Sunsets aren't _supposed_ to last. Love is. If it doesn't last, it isn't really love."

"No? Obi-Wan, there are hundreds of knights in this Temple who have never had a love relationship that lasted longer than a year or two. Should all of them be considered failures? Should they look back on their old loves with bitterness, or should they cherish those memories as gifts from the past?"

Obi-Wan stared sullenly at the fiery clouds. It wasn't the same, but he would never get Qui-Gon to understand that.

"Go to your room, Padawan. Or to one of the gardens, if you prefer. Meditate on the matter. You don't have to tell me what conclusion you reach unless you wish to, but I want your heart to be more at peace before we speak again."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan collected his robe and headed, not for the Water Garden, which was Bant's favorite, but for the Stone Garden. Bant thought the place barren and unappealing, but whenever Obi-Wan looked at the beds of small stones, he thought of his first present from Qui-Gon. The place had private meaning for him, and he wasn't likely to meet anyone there who would insist on speaking with him.

He sat on a flat-topped slab of some sedimentary rock, watching the little silver flecks in the material gleam and change as twilight faded and the garden's muted lanterns came on. He thought about Bant, and his dreams for their life together. He had had such expectations, had imagined their future in such detail, and now all of that was gone. Was he supposed to feel no disappointment over the loss of all that glowing potential?

No, he decided at last. Disappointment was normal. It was a kind of grief for something that had never been. But just as it was the Jedi way during funerals to contemplate the beauty of the life that had been rather than the sadness of the passing, in the same way Qui-Gon wanted him to remember the sweetness of his memories of love rather than focusing on the absence in his heart.

It made a kind of sense. Certainly Obi-Wan had no wish to blot those wonderful days from his mind entirely. But he was afraid that he would never be able to love anyone else in quite the same way. He could never give his heart with the same surety, knowing as he did now that his feelings might change in a few months or perhaps years.

The life of a Jedi was full of change, naturally. Obi-Wan never knew where he would be sleeping or what he would be doing from one week to the next. And there was always an awareness of the greatest uncertainty of all: the simple fact that he might not be alive a day or a year or a decade from now. But within that ever-changing life, there were a few solid and immutable points. The eternal Force was the foremost of these. The Jedi Code, the ideal of service, and unceasing routines of the Temple provided other anchors of stability. Master Yoda himself, though he was hardly immortal, had been a constant in the lives of generations of Jedi. And for Obi-Wan, at least, there was always the surety of his master's love.

In that moment of realization, Obi-Wan's heart bloomed open and feelings burst forth that he had never guessed he was carrying within. He knew then that he _would_ be able to give his love fully and freely and with the sure knowledge that it would be forever . . . so long as he was giving it to Qui-Gon.

Kneeling on the rock with his head tilted back and his arms spread wide, Obi-Wan let that glorious certainty pour through him until it seemed it was locked in every cell. Then he carefully tamped it down, coaxing his heart back into a curled bud and wrapping it about with shields. Some day he would touch those secret feelings again, but the time was not yet.

When he returned to their quarters, stiff and cold in the light of dawn, Obi-Wan's heart was as peaceful as any master could wish. And deep within, buried under layers of snow, the seed of love waited for the moment when Spring would arrive and it could blossom once more.


	17. Chapter 17

Obi-Wan stirred and opened his eyes to find himself curled on his bunk, eyes gummy and mouth sour with sleep. He had fallen asleep without ever undressing or pulling the bedclothes over him, and the chronometer said he'd been that way for nearly twelve hours. Shock made him want to leap up and do all the things he should have been attending to, but sleep still hung over him like a pall.

He scrubbed at his face, and his eyes fell upon the clothes he had set out for his master. Shame filled him -- Qui-Gon had said he would call when he was ready, but Obi-Wan had been too deeply asleep to respond. Yet when he reached out tentatively through their bond, he had an impression of profound relaxation and flickering dreams from his master.

So, exhaustion had overtaken Qui-Gon as well. Normally, they could compensate for the familiar combat reaction, but this time Qui-Gon was wounded and Obi-Wan had been caught off guard. They would both feel better for the rest.

He had enough time to give himself a quick wash from the freighter's limited water stores. While he was waiting for the depilatory cream to take effect, he considered the memory that had come to him in his dream. His romantic relationship with Bant had ended that day; although she had been willing to keep working at it, he would have felt like a liar knowing that he felt more for Qui-Gon than he ever could for anyone else. But at least he and Bant had managed to recover their solid foundation of friendship after a few months of shyness.

He hadn't exactly suppressed or shielded the knowledge of his love for Qui-Gon, but he'd skirted around it for so long that now it tasted fresh and unfamiliar to his mind. Not wrong in any way -- it was a liberation of his senses and emotions even to admit to himself that he loved his master. But he wasn't certain how Qui-Gon would react. He couldn't try to hide his feelings, not after the earlier deception that Qui-Gon had seen through so quickly.

He expected Qui-Gon to refuse his suggestion for healing, but he didn't want his master to think their relationship was in any way unbalanced by love. A tiny thread of fear snaked through his heart that Qui-Gon might decide he would be better off with another master, or at least a period of separation until Obi-Wan got over what might be considered a mere infatuation. In fact, Obi-Wan knew it was something far deeper than that, and he cherished his love even though he knew it might never be consummated.

With a deep breath, the padawan centered himself and released his anxieties into the Force. He would simply have to wait for Qui-Gon's decision and trust in his master's judgment. In the meantime, he realized, he'd better wash the cream off his face before he dissolved all his skin.

Once he was clean, dressed, and relatively alert, Obi-Wan headed to the mess hall for something to eat. He was ravenous -- another common symptom after a fight. He found Captain Ctecteru in the mess with Satiirsti and Eriskiett, and greeted them gladly. While he was filling his bowl, they assured him that all was well with the ship; they would be arriving at Borritt less than a day behind schedule. Eriskiett eagerly detailed the progress of repairs on the damaged sections of the freighter, and even Satiirsti was drawn out a little by an inquiry about her hurt shoulder.

The Bristeen idea of a delicious meal tended towards mixtures of seeds, grains, and small insects. At least the insects weren't still alive, and Obi-Wan had resigned himself days ago to eating at least a few with every meal. This time, he managed to avoid most of them without giving offense when a subtle stirring in the back of his mind warned him that Qui-Gon was awake. He explained that he was being summoned, offered his remaining insects to Satiirsti, and excused himself from the room. After a quick stop at their quarters to collect the clothing he'd picked out, Obi-Wan headed for the medbay.

He found his master sitting up in bed and blinking, features endearingly blurred by sleep. Half his face was still obscured by the dressing, but Obi-Wan noted the infinitesimal tightening of the lips that indicated the nerve-stun had worn off without being renewed. The medical droid was whirring around, trying to persuade Qui-Gon to lie flat. When Obi-Wan approached, the droid appealed to him for support.

"Your friend wishes to leave the infirmary," it droned in the closest thing to distress it was capable of showing. "I have explained that this is far too premature . . ."

"Sorry, TM40," said Obi-Wan with a half-smile, dragging his eyes away from Qui-Gon. "When a Jedi master wishes to leave, you would be wisest not to try to stop him."

Qui-Gon's eye lit upon the bundle tucked under the padawan's arm. "Are those my clothes?"

Obi-Wan nodded and handed them over. "I'm afraid your cloak was ruined." By blaster scoring, fire, flying shards of metal, and a quantity of blood.

Qui-Gon sighed and sorted out the pile of fabric on his lap. "I'll hardly be needing a cloak for a while -- not with the ship and the orbital habitats all set to Bristeen temperatures."

"So I thought." Obi-Wan began to chivvy the droid away from his master's bed, activating the privacy screen around the bed so that Qui-Gon could dress in peace. "Will you need any assistance?" he asked, trying not to stare as the thermal sheet slipped down far enough to expose a dusting of hair and one brown nipple.

"I don't think --" Qui-Gon stopped and winced as he tried to raise his left arm. His upper arm and the side of his chest had also been bruised and cut by debris from the exposion, although not so badly as his face.

Obi-Wan stepped forward quickly and pulled the left sleeve of the tunic forward to make it easier for Qui-Gon to slip his arm inside. He waited while his master shrugged into the other sleeve, then held the narrow sash behind Qui-Gon's back where it could be easily grasped. For a moment, he had Qui-Gon in the circle of his arms, almost embracing save for the few inches that separated their skin. The flesh on his inner arms prickled with awareness of Qui-Gon's heat, and he was breathing a little rapidly when he stepped back from the bed.

Qui-Gon glanced at him knowingly, and Obi-Wan had to work at suppressing a blush. "I believe I can manage the pants on my own, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan waited anyway, one hand hovering beneath his master's elbow, until Qui-Gon had stepped down from the pallet and was standing steadily. Then he walked through the privacy screen and waited, alert for any hint of distress.

When the screen's humming died, he turned to find his master ruefully contemplating the soft slippers he had provided. Obi-Wan's lips quirked; he had bought those slippers for Qui-Gon years before -- the very first present he had ever given his master. The gift seemed genuinely appreciated and was brought along on every mission, but rarely worn. Qui-Gon Jinn might be the epitome of serenity, but he spent very little time actually relaxing.

"I trust my boots were not also destroyed?" Qui-Gon asked. The boots were one of a very few areas where the Jedi master indulged both his sensuality and his vanity. 

"No, Master." _Only one of them,_ a mischievous impulse prompted him to say, just to see Qui-Gon's expression. But he continued truthfully, "They just need cleaning. But I didn't think you would need them to walk as far as our cabin." By his tone, he let his master know that there would be an argument if Qui-Gon was planning to go anywhere else.

Qui-Gon nodded a reluctant agreement, and Obi-Wan quickly knelt to ease the slippers onto his master's feet before the wounded man could try to bend down. They walked slowly through the corridors of the ship, Qui-Gon moving upright but stiffly. No one approached them. Obi-Wan saw a crewmember -- he thought it was Trecteeks, who had been just behind him at the time of the explosion -- look up at them before hurrying down a side passage. So the ostracism had begun already.

Qui-Gon was white-lipped by the time they reached the cabin, and Obi-Wan noticed a fine tremor as he helped his master down to the bunk with a hand under his elbow. 

Obi-Wan channeled as much Force as he could access toward his master for support. "You should lie down and rest, Master," he urged when Qui-Gon remained stubbornly sitting up. "You can get started on that healing trance."

Qui-Gon's eyebrow rose. "I thought you would want to discuss _your_ idea for healing me."

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Of course." He folded down his own bunk from the opposite was and sat at attention, though he didn't particularly want to hear Qui-Gon's reasons for rejecting him. He was still too young; an apprentice could not truly give free consent to his master; it would interfere with their current relationship and Obi-Wan's training -- the arguments would go something like that.

"Tell me again your reasons for pressing this matter." Qui-Gon regarded the young man keenly.

Obi-Wan sighed, hardly eager to bare his feelings only to have them brushed aside. But perhaps Qui-Gon sensed the change that had occurred in his heart overnight. He braced himself. "I love you," he began baldly. "I don't wish to see you in pain, or pushed to one side on a mission when you should be in charge. I don't want you forced to remain idle for months of recuperation. And also, I find you very desirable sexually." He pressed his lips tightly closed and waited.

Qui-Gon was silent for a long time. "You do realize that we can't make any commitments to each other, don't you, Obi-Wan? It would be wrong while you are still my padawan and bound to obey me in other areas."

"Of course. But to be with you, even one time only, I think, would be . . . delightful." Obi-Wan shrugged and forced a smile to his face. "I understand that you see it differently."

"On the contrary, I agree with you."

Obi-Wan blinked.

"I think we should give it a try."

" _What_?" The apprentice managed weakly.

"Unless you've changed your mind, that is. Have you?"

"Have I -- no!" Obi-Wan gathered enough of his wits to recognize the gleam of amusement in his master's eye. "But I thought that you . . . that is, you wouldn't want . . . you would think . . ." He trailed off helplessly.

"I've considered your reasons, and I think they make a certain sense."

"Which reasons?"

Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly. "Well, there is the mission. As you know, I dislike going into any situation without being prepared for anything that might happen. Our mission is not simply what will occur once we reach Bristeetst -- there is also the voyage itself to be considered."

Obi-Wan nodded. "The previous ice freighters were attacked more than once on the trip, weren't they?"

"One of them encountered three separate groups of ice pirates. If we should see more combat on this journey, I will be little help so long as I can barely stand and walk."

Obi-Wan considered this. He knew his master hated to watch him go into battle alone. If he had thought of it, that would have been a far more telling argument than the fact that Qui-Gon would be held back from participating in the Bristeen inaugural ceremonies. "Is that your only reason?" he asked.

"No." 

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed as Qui-Gon offered nothing else. "May I know what other reasons you have?"

"No." Firm, but not ungentle.

"That . . . doesn't seem quite fair." Obi-Wan thought of the difficulty with which he had bared his own soul.

Qui-Gon sighed. "This is precisely why a sexual relationship is discouraged between master and apprentice, Obi-Wan. I am your teacher and your guide -- not your peer. I am under no obligation to tell you my reasons for anything I choose to do or not to do. In this particular case, I don't believe it would serve you to know what other reasons I have. Will you refuse me because I cannot be more open?"

Refuse? "Of course not."

The corner of Qui-Gon's mouth curved upward. "Then I believe you have some preparations to make."

Obi-Wan's heart tried to go into hyperdrive as he realized that this was really going to happen. He was going to make love to Qui-Gon! He would make sure everything was perfect -- 

He froze, half standing. "Are you . . . will you be up to this?"

Qui-Gon's face took on half of his driest expression. "Leave that to me."

Obi-Wan swallowed, dry-mouthed. "We, erm, might have to keep going for several hours. For the healing to be complete."

"Fortunately, my lover is young and virile and possesses great stamina."

Obi-Wan had to tell his heart firmly to slow down, or else Qui-Gon might have heard it from across the small space. Just hearing the word `lover' on Qui-Gon's lips was doing the strangest things to his body. Also some not-so-strange things, but it wasn't time for that yet. Struggling to control his involuntary reactions, Obi-Wan managed, "Right. Well. I'd better go make preparations, hadn't I?" He left the small room reluctantly, throwing a quick look over his shoulder to see Qui-Gon still sitting on the bunk.

He went first to the infirmary. There would surely be something there which they could use for lubrication. He managed to get his body under control once he was away from Qui-Gon's intoxicating presence, but his mind was whirling with plans. They would need a position where he could maintain a certain level of arousal for a long time. Some of his experiments with Bruck came to mind. There had been that time they went to the Pulse Lifter club on Coruscant . . . . Yes, that would do nicely. And the captain _had_ offered to do anything she could to help Qui-Gon's recovery.

After his raid on the medical stores, Obi-Wan headed for the bridge.


	18. Chapter 18

His preparations complete, Obi-Wan stepped into the cabin and froze, staring at the man sitting on the bunk. Qui-Gon was singularly unhelpful, merely making a sweeping gesture with one hand to indicate this was the padawan's show to direct. There was a gleam of amusement in that blue eye, and Obi-Wan quailed for a moment at the thought that his master might be laughing at him inwardly.

He steadied himself with a reminder that Qui-Gon had never once mocked him, even at times when he must have looked far more foolish than today. There was the first time they had ever sparred together with lightsabers, when Obi-Wan -- a good fighter for his age, but over-anxious to impress -- had tripped and hit himself in the nose with his own saber, fortunately only at half power. The boy had been mortified, but Qui-Gon had simply attended to the burn and suggested adding a series of balance exercises to his warm-ups. 

Remembering the incident and his thirteen-year-old chagrin, Obi-Wan had to smile in appreciation of his master's restraint. His heart warmed as Qui-Gon returned the smile openly. Perhaps he had been misreading his master's half-covered expression, and the light in Qui-Gon's eye was from affection rather than amusement. 

Affection was good, even if Obi-Wan had hoped for more. He wondered a bit about the `other reasons' Qui-Gon had for agreeing to this liaison, but he knew better than to press the question, even in his own mind. 

"Well," Obi-Wan began, and fell silent. But he was a little easier in his own mind, and he felt confident that the awkwardness would fade. He unhooked the lightsaber from his belt and opened the closet to tuck it safely in his pack. 

"Everything ready?" Qui-Gon inquired.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I spoke to the captain, and made some arrangements with her. And I got this -- thought it might come in useful." He tossed a fat tube onto Qui-Gon's lap before turning to fold his own bunk out of the way.

Qui-Gon studied the medical lubricant. "I expect it will."

"So . . . perhaps we should get started." Obi-Wan was pleased to note that his voice sounded quite steady. 

Qui-Gon nodded gravely, setting the lubricant beside him. "Where do you wish to begin?"

"I suppose the usual place to begin would be removing our clothes." Obi-Wan went to work on his belt, knowing that as soon as his outer tunic came loose, his excitement would be obvious. 

Qui-Gon hesitated. "You are in charge here, Obi-Wan. I won't reject anything you wish to do. But I'd prefer to start with an earlier step than undressing, if you don't mind."

Obi-Wan paused, belt in hand, then ducked to stow it in the closet. "What step?"

Qui-Gon patted the bunk next to him, and Obi-Wan sat obligingly, near enough to feel his master's heat. The older man turned, his hand coming up to caress Obi-Wan's cheek. "Every good seduction," Qui-Gon murmured, "should start with a kiss."

Obi-Wan had never been able to share kisses with Bant, since her mouth wasn't constructed for it. But he'd received a thorough grounding in the technique from Riennan, with occasional refreshers from Bruck. He found kissing enjoyable, if not so essential to pleasure as Qui-Gon seemed to think. So he tipped his chin up willingly . . .

And discovered that kissing was very different indeed when he was in love with the person he was kissing.

There was nothing particularly special about the physical meeting of their lips; it was actually rather awkward, due to the injuries that immobilized half of Qui-Gon's face and mouth. The difference was within Obi-Wan, as a slow fire ignited under his breastbone and began to spread inexorably throughout his body -- notably to points south.

With a muffled sound of surprise, Obi-Wan lifted his arms to clasp his master and draw him closer, remembering at the last moment to hold lightly in deference to Qui-Gon's injuries. Their lips and tongues moved into a wonderful -- if somewhat lopsided -- dance of advance and retreat, licking and stroking and melding, while the heat built between their bodies until Obi-Wan felt as if he might burst into flame.

When, inevitably, a miscalculated move caused Qui-Gon to draw back with a soft grunt of discomfort, Obi-Wan was left staring up at his master with eyes that he knew must be shining as though he'd never been kissed before in his life. And truly, he felt as if he hadn't. If everything else about making love with Qui-Gon turned out to be as new and exciting as kissing, Obi-Wan wasn't sure he would survive the experience.

On the other hand, they should have no trouble generating all the Force they needed. Obi-Wan's body was singing with it already, and he could feel the echos sounding through his master as well.

"I was right," he said, his voice emerging high and breathless.

Qui-Gon nodded, one finger tracing a line down the younger man's cheek. "It does work in hyperspace."

"No. I mean --" Obi-Wan leaned in to lick at the unhurt corner of his master's mouth. "Delightful."

It was too much to hope that a Jedi master would actually blush, but the exposed half of Qui-Gon's face shone with startled pleasure.

"What was that the captain was announcing over the intercom?" Qui-Gon asked, somewhat muffled as his mouth was attacked again.

"Hmmm? Oh." Obi-Wan sat back a little. He vaguely remembered a whistling voice while he had been lost in the kiss, but he didn't need to hear it to know what had been said. "I asked her to turn off the gravity. There are some preparations to make before the ship is ready, but it should go off in half an hour or so." He stroked his master's long neck with the back of one finger, recalling his childhood fantasies. Well, he no longer had to wonder, he thought happily, nuzzling in to taste Qui-Gon's skin. 

"Turn . . . off . . . the gravity?" Qui-Gon gasped.

"Mm-hmmm. It will be easier for what I had planned." Obi-Wan pulled back again to frown at his master. "Unless it makes you ill?" Qui-Gon had never shown any sign of queasiness when they did low-gravity exercises, but then, he was also very skilled at hiding any discomfort.

"No, not ill, but . . . Obi-Wan, have you ever tried sex in zero gravity? It isn't as simple as it sounds."

"Simple enough for Force-users. You just have to know a few tricks." Obi-Wan licked his lips and leaned closer again.

"But _when_ did you -- ahhh." Qui-Gon tilted his head to give the younger man better access to his earlobe.

Smiling at the response and giving the ear a thorough suckling before he licked his way down toward Qui-Gon's pulse, Obi-Wan delayed a few minutes before he explained. "It wasn't true microgravity, but Br-- I've been to one of those repulsor-lift clubs. You know the sort, where they apply grav-canceling to the entire club?" 

"Mmmm," Qui-Gon replied, more or less in agreement.

Obi-Wan sat up to look his master in the eye. "This is all right with you, then?"

Qui-Gon blinked dazedly. "Of course, if it's necessary for your plan. I told you, you're in charge here, Obi-Wan."

"Oh, good. Does that mean we can get to the undressing part now?" Obi-Wan pulled the neck of his master's tunic wide so that he could lap at the hollow between the collarbones.

Undressing was just as awkward as it had been with any of Obi-Wan's partners, yet somehow with Qui-Gon it was sweeter. They stole kisses between the removal of each item, and eventually fell into a pattern where Qui-Gon loosened the clothing and Obi-Wan did the actual disrobing for both of them. Since Qui-Gon was wearing less, he was the first to become completely naked, his leggings coming off while Obi-Wan was only bare from the waist up. 

"Oh," the padawan breathed, entranced. Some part of him had always envisioned Qui-Gon as being huge, even monstrous. He knew his master appeared very generously endowed when flaccid, but apparently Qui-Gon was one of those men who grew only a little as he became erect. For he was certainly erect now, his phallus warmly flushed with blood -- but perfectly normal in girth and only a little longer than average. It would make Obi-Wan's job much easier for the next few hours, but the elegant proportions were also charming to the eye.

Obi-Wan had already knelt on the deck in order to pull off Qui-Gon's slippers and leggings. Now, unselfconsciously, he bent his head to touch and smell and rub his cheek across Qui-Gon's erection. He had just taken his first taste of the broad smooth head and the bitter droplet seeping forth, and he was about to draw the whole thing in and start suckling when a sharp tug on his braid made him look up. 

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon husked, "if the gravity is about to go off, you'd better get the rest of your clothes off and get everything stowed away. Especially your boots -- we don't want them floating around the room while we're busy." 

"Oh . . ." Obi-Wan's eyes fell back to the object of his recent attentions, glistening with moisture. "Of course." He started on the buckles of his boots, uncommonly fumble-fingered. His feet seemed to have grown since he put the boots on. When he got them off at last, he turned to put them and the rest of their abandoned clothes in the closet, safely tucked under the tie-downs. He glanced quickly around the room, but he and his master had both been too well drilled in spacegoing procedures to leave any loose toiletries about. 

"Your leggings," Qui-Gon pointed out softly, and Obi-Wan flushed, pulled off the last of his clothes, stuffed them into the bottom of the closet, and closed the door.

He turned to find Qui-Gon's eye fixed firmly on his backside as he straightened, and an extra pulse of blood thudded through his erection at the intensity of that gaze. He stood still for several moments, letting Qui-Gon look his fill although there was nothing the master hadn't seen many times before. Everything was very different in this context, Obi-Wan acknowledged as his master's gaze rose to meet his. Certainly each part of Qui-Gon's body seemed more beautiful than ever before.

"Will you keep the dressing on?" he asked, gesturing at the cover on the broken side of Qui-Gon's face.

"I might as well. It won't be in the way, will it?"

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Then it will come off soon enough when we are done."

Obi-Wan smiled at the confidence in his master's voice. He hoped he could live up to those expectations.

"Come here, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon raised a hand to stroke the length of the padawan's flank from ribs to thigh, then inward and upward to cup the soft sac in his hand. 

Obi-Wan's breath caught as his master bent forward to taste. Without conscious thought, his head tilted back, his eyes fluttered closed, and his hands threaded into Qui-Gon's thick hair. The older man's cracked jaw wouldn't part wide enough to take Obi-Wan in, but he offered expert strokes from his tongue and fingers.

Obi-Wan felt his excitement peaking far too soon, as much from the realization that this was _Qui-Gon_ bowing before him as from the actual physical sensations. "Stop," he gasped, just in time, and Qui-Gon drew back to give him an inquiring look.

"Need to . . . go slow," Obi-Wan managed, acutely conscious of the fingers still wrapped around his erection. "Keep going for hours, remember?"

"Ah, yes. I wouldn't want to interfere with your plan," Qui-Gon returned drily. But he undermined this show of composure by licking quickly at his lips for one last taste.

Obi-Wan sank to the bunk beside his master and fumbled for the tube of lubricant. He looked at it for a moment, considering the difficulties of reaching inside his own body. "Would you, er, prepare me?" he asked, holding the tube out.

"With pleasure." Qui-Gon placed a hand on the younger man's hip and pulled gently until Obi-Wan turned away, crouching on the narrow bunk on hands and knees. 

A brush of lips against his upraised rear and a gentle hand stroking his tender sac made the padawan lift his hips higher. Then a slick finger was gliding across his opening, over and around the puckered lips until he pushed outward reflexively, and the finger slipped inside. Obi-Wan's breath shuddered in and out as the finger explored and retreated, returning with one of its fellows and more slick fluid. He gasped and rocked back against the intruders when they sought deeper and pressed upon the core of his pleasure.

Then the fingers were gone and a larger, warmer invader took their place. Obi-Wan cried out and surged back onto his master's shaft. Qui-Gon released a lush groan as his hips thrust forward, joining the two of them together irrevocably. Obi-Wan felt his master's weight draped over his back, easily borne in the ship's light gravity yet still warmly overwhelming. Unbalanced by his injuries, supporting himself with one hand, Qui-Gon nevertheless surged into a powerful rhythm, pumping into the younger man's body.

"Wait!" Obi-Wan gasped belatedly. Then a change in angle brought Qui-Gon's shaft into perfect alignment, and the padawan gave in with a groan. He tried simultaneously to raise his hips to his master's thrusts and keep his back arched as an extra support.

Qui-Gon froze. "Wait?" he ground out.

"No . . . I was mistaken. Go on." Obi-Wan pushed back, wanting to feel that power lance through him once more.

"Am I ruining your plans?" Qui-Gon's voice was breathless, but well under control.

"We can work around it. I'm flexible." Obi-Wan wriggled again. The gravity wasn't even off yet; he wanted to enjoy this abandon while they still had a bed to work with.

"So I noticed," Qui-Gon chuckled, and started moving, more slowly this time. He levered himself up a little, one hand braced on the bed squarely beneath Obi-Wan's chest. His weaker left hand starfished down the young man's belly to the erection which leaped eagerly into his warm palm.

Obi-Wan moaned and let his shoulders collapse onto the bunk. He rocked eagerly, back upon Qui-Gon's erection and forward into Qui-Gon's grasp. He could not have said what made this joining so much more powerful than any of his previous experiences, unless it was the knowledge that this was his beloved master pressing against the back of his thighs, piercing into his bowels, enfolding him in the clasp of that enormous, beautiful hand. The Force they drew up sparked palpably along the bond between them, enhancing the pleasure in a way Obi-Wan had never known before.

Dimly, Obi-Wan realized he was sobbing with ecstasy as he writhed back and forth between the two delicious stimuli. Qui-Gon was not silent either, his first muted grunts turning to abandoned moans as the tension built between them. They found their perfect angle and moved in unison, ratcheting up the pace and the pleasure until Qui-Gon gave a hoarse shout of completion. Obi-Wan felt himself tumble over a peak and then he was falling, falling up into his master's embrace . . .

Dimly he realized that the gravity had gone off at last, and he had just enough sense to press his own hand over Qui-Gon's upon his erection as he spilled forth all his joy and love.

Clearly Qui-Gon had also had some opportunity to learn the tricks of making love in zero gravity, for he twined his legs around Obi-Wan's and pulled the younger man close as they panted for breath. They were both damp with sweat in the warm atmosphere of the ship, both drenched in pleasure and already halfway to exhaustion. The Force pulsed hugely in both of them, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

Obi-Wan leaned back into his master's arms and gamely tried to catch his breath, knowing that his work had barely begun.


	19. Chapter 19

Since the freighter was so large, their cabin was generously sized compared to typical shipboard accommodations. The high ceiling meant that they had a reasonable amount of space available when the gravity was off. Obi-Wan reached out with just a thread of Force and adjusted their position to make sure they wouldn't bounce off any walls. He'd have to remember to check their position occasionally while they worked.

He tilted his head back against Qui-Gon's shoulder and lifted their joined hands from his wet cock. Luxuriously, Obi-Wan licked the bitter fluid from his master's fingers -- after all, they wouldn't want it floating in little droplets around the room. He felt Qui-Gon shudder against him, and the shaft still trapped inside him stopped softening.

With a sweet sigh, he released his master's hand. "Do you think that's enough to start with?" he asked, his voice gone low and languid.

"Enough?" Qui-Gon returned vaguely.

"Enough Force."

"Oh." Qui-Gon's arms tightened around the padawan, and he drew the gathered Force to him. "It's a good start. I can begin the healing, but I don't know how long it will take."

"Don't worry. I have an idea about that." Obi-Wan stretched his legs carefully into the air and looked about for the only item he had left loose in the room. The lubricant was floating near the corner of the ceiling and two walls, and he brought it to him with an easy call.

Qui-Gon began to pull back, and Obi-Wan reflexively spread his legs further apart, trapping his master's legs which were wrapped around him. "No!" he gasped. "Stay in me."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Obi-Wan, I don't know if I'll be good for much more. Especially if I'm concentrating on healing."

"You don't have to come again. Just stay in me, and stay hard. You can do that." Obi-Wan sent a shiver of Force to his master's cock, and felt the thrill race through his own body where they were joined. Qui-Gon began to harden again. 

"I'm going to move away a bit, but not too much, all right?" Obi-Wan pressed his elbows back against his master's chest, making a space between their bodies and letting the stiff shaft recede until only the head was still within him, held tight by deliberate clenching of his muscles.

"Now I need you to spread your legs a little further." As the powerful thighs loosened their grasp, Obi-Wan began to tilt himself downward. His own legs went back between Qui-Gon's, and his torso moved down until he was at right angles to his master's body, still joined together.

"Obi-Wan, what are you doing?" Qui-Gon protested in bewilderment.

"It's a position that will let me maintain a certain level of tension. For hours, if need be. It might be a little uncomfortable until you get used to it. Let me know if it actually hurts, though." Obi-Wan kept rotating his body slowly until Qui-Gon's legs came behind the younger man's back. Now the master's shaft was pointing almost directly down away from his body, and Obi-Wan could feel the strain thrumming through Qui-Gon's muscles. There was no actual complaint, though, so he continued.

His own heels were somewhere around Qui-Gon's shoulder blades now, and they hung in the air with their buttocks pressed together. Slathering a generous measure of lubricant onto his fingers, Obi-Wan reached between his legs and began to tease at Qui-Gon's opening.

"Obi-Wan!" The master spasmed, almost jerking himself free. 

"It's all right, this will work," he soothed. "We've already done the hard part. Can you relax a little?" He felt the ring of muscle open to admit his fingers, and reached in to slick the passage thoroughly. At the length of his reach, he found Qui-Gon's sweet spot and felt the shaft still trapped inside him twitch with pleasure. He continued until his master was loose and open.

"Here we go, then." Coating his own erection, Obi-Wan pulled it downward, away from his belly where it wanted to nestle and down toward the dark hole that awaited. This was the uncomfortable part, for him, but he knew it would work, so he breathed carefully and released his tensions until his shaft was in position.

He had to lock his heels around Qui-Gon's ribs and pull a little with his legs and with the Force to bring them closer together. It was hard to imagine how anyone could accomplish this without the Force, although Obi-Wan knew he and Bruck weren't the first who had ever tried it. But with some judicious pulling and pushing, he got the head of his erection past the puckered ring and felt himself hotly clasped by Qui-Gon's body.

"Oh!" he gasped shakily at the exquisite sensations as he worked them closer together, feeling his master's shaft sink deeper into him at the same time. He could only move a few more centimeters until they were joined as closely as possible, their testicles nestled snugly side by side. "All right?" he managed to ask, his voice high and trembling.

"I never knew this was possible," Qui-Gon murmured.

"It's . . . a good position for very slow lovemaking," Obi-Wan explained. "Useful in zero gravity because it doesn't get messy when someone comes. Not so good for wild motions or stimulating the prostate." Or gazing into each other's eyes, which he was sorry to miss. "But this . . ." With a gentle undulation, he lifted their bodies apart a few centimeters and then back together. "I can keep this up for a long time."

After another rippling move, he was no longer quite so sure, though; this was more exciting than he had remembered. Qui-Gon's longer shaft allowed for some extra penetration, and the sensation of his own flesh buried inside his master was exquisite, even if he could only get halfway in. Then there was the way the erotic sensations echoed back and forth along their bond; he hadn't shared that pleasure with Bruck. But he did remember the special way the Force resonated in their flesh.

"This is also good for . . . setting up a sort of . . . feedback loop." Technically, Obi-Wan knew, there was no reason why penetration should have any effect on who donated energy to whom. But somehow the two became equated in the mind, and the mind affected the Force. He could almost feel the power flowing into him at the spot where Qui-Gon's flesh pierced him. He let it build in his own body along with his arousal, then fed it back through their other joining. It was perfect.

Too perfect. Obi-Wan gave up on speech and instead merely reached out to capture his master's feet, tucking the long shins under his arms and using them for more leverage. He moved faster, pulling and pushing, hearing his own soft cries building to a crescendo. But it was too soon.

He could feel Qui-Gon catching the energy he passed and using it, subtle motions of the Force threading through his master's injured body. Qui-Gon was slipping off into a deep working trance while Obi-Wan's flesh sang with purest pleasure, but it was going to take hours. Obi-Wan couldn't afford to come again so soon, yet the arousal and the Force were already building within him.

He made himself stop and go still, clamping down on the pressure point at the base of his cock like a ring of Force inhibiting his climax. When the critical moment had receded a little, he began to move again, very slowly.

It was like a dance, a kata requiring the utmost balance and care. He would concentrate on the delightful sensations until his arousal built, then feed the energy to his master and force himself to back off a little. Then coax it up again to a near-frenzy, then slow down once more. He lost track of how many times he had passed through this maddening cycle before he could resist no longer. His unconscious whimpers building to a long cry, Obi-Wan poured himself into his master's body.

Even then, he didn't release control entirely. He clamped down once more with the Force before he had quite finished spurting. It made him groan in delicious agony, but he knew he would be able to keep going longer if he didn't spend himself all at once. He rested briefly, feeling the Force he had generated flowing into his master's body. Then he began the whole cycle over again.

It went on for a long time. Obi-Wan's inner chronometer failed him as he lost the ability to think about anything but sensation and Force. His world narrowed to Qui-Gon's ankles against his ribs, Qui-Gon's thighs behind his hips, Qui-Gon's shaft within him and Qui-Gon's heat around his own erection. When he needed to build his excitement he let himself think about the perfect intimacy of penetrating and being penetrated. When it was time to cool off he opened his eyes and adjusted their positions between the walls of the room.

They started to dry off at one point, the contact between them growing sticky and raw. He had to hunt around for the lubricant, which had gotten wedged underneath Qui-Gon's bunk. Smearing the stuff on himself and Qui-Gon was a new sensation which almost destroyed his equilibrium, as he felt his master's flesh warm and pulsing between his fingers and thought of that pulse disappearing into his own body. When he was done, he carefully sent the tube away to fit snugly into a corner of his own folded bunk, in case he needed to find it again -- though in truth, he didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep this up.

He came again and again, but never allowed himself true completion. His skin was slick with sweat, but he burned in the warm air. Qui-Gon came with him at least one time, perhaps more, and he nearly lost control as he felt the warmth gushing up inside him.

He was almost gone, lost in a haze of sensation, when he felt a gentle tug at his mind. His eyes flew open. "Master?"

"One more, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was hoarse with weariness. "The last time. Give me everything you have."

Obi-Wan realized his master was finished; he had done everything possible with their limited time and energy. They were both exhausted to the point of collapse, and Qui-Gon's erection was fading despite the Force that still tingled between them.

With a grunt, Obi-Wan pulled his body free of Qui-Gon's shaft and tilted himself up his master's back. He was still buried inside the other man, still hard himself although he hardly knew how it was possible. He brought their bodies into line again, Qui-Gon's broad back pressed against his chest. He dipped his head to lick at one glistening shoulder, savoring his master's salt. Yes, he could do this. One last time, he could possess his master and fill him with love and lust and Force.

Slowly at first, gripping Qui-Gon's hips for the leverage he needed in lieu of gravity to push against, Obi-Wan began to thrust. At last he could sink to his full length inside Qui-Gon's heated passage, and it was glorious. He pressed his cheek between his master's shoulder blades, sobbing as he pumped in and out. 

All of it -- every scrap of energy within him -- he gave to his lover. And this time he could feel it blazing through Qui-Gon as pure healing energy, cementing whatever changes Qui-Gon had made so carefully and painstakingly over the last hours. Obi-Wan moved faster, pouring himself into the task both for the sake of sensation and healing.

This would be the last time, he knew; not only the last time today, but most likely the last time he would ever be joined with his master like this. Qui-Gon was far too proper to consider a sexual relationship with his padawan without a very good reason. And no situation quite like this one was ever likely to come up again. So Obi-Wan was determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of this last encounter, and store it all safely in his memory to be taken out and considered at lonely future moments.

Incredibly, he felt Qui-Gon's arousal begin to revive as he moved. The older man had seemed spent earlier, but his cock began to awaken once more as Obi-Wan reached around to stroke it. A gentle redirecting of Force made Qui-Gon groan and arch into his grasp.

"Obi-Wan," he protested.

"You don't need to concentrate any more, Master. Let it go. Let it all go." Obi-Wan moved his hips faster, twining his ankles with Qui-Gon's and embracing the other man tightly to keep their bodies from flying apart with the force of their motions. Their skin made moist smacking sounds each time they came together.

"Obi-Wan." This time the tone was faintly pleading. "Link with me."

The younger man gasped as he felt his master reaching out along their bond. Qui-Gon was asking for more than a gentle Force exchange, more than shared physical sensations -- he was suggesting a full mind-link during sex. It was an intimacy usually reserved only for committed couples, who had already formed a love bond.

Obi-Wan's mind raced with questions he wanted to ask about what this meant. But there was no time, even if his pleasure-drenched brain could have formulated the words. And surely the answers would be there in Qui-Gon's mind if he made the link. So he opened his mind and reached back, meeting and matching Qui-Gon's mental clasp. 

His master's thoughts and feelings exploded through Obi-Wan's mind: the deep convictions, the caring and generosity which brightened the man's unshakable serenity. He was astonished by how much of that warmth was directed at _him_ \-- and also by the fact that Qui-Gon seemed to think the warmth would be gone entirely if Obi-Wan weren't in his life.

But there was no chance for Obi-Wan to think about those amazing revelations when he was also sharing his master's physical sensations. Qui-Gon's body was arching into the pounding Obi-Wan was giving him, and the Force was roaring through him like a flood, energizing every cell with vitality and well-being. Obi-Wan cried out at the joint senses as he snapped his hips harder, driving into his master with everything he had. They were one being moving in two bodies, aflame with lust and Force and health and joy and love . . .

Yes, there was love in there, and it wasn't entirely coming from him. Obi-Wan had one instant to recognize it before his body convulsed in spasms of ecstasy, an overload of every sense that tore through him and shattered him into tiny pieces. It was like soaring into the heart of a star, a brightness that seared him and consumed him and left him to fall alone into darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

Something warm was being wrapped around Obi-Wan's damp shoulders. He cracked his eyes open muzzily. "Hmm?"

"It's all right, just rest." Strong arms came around him. 

He came awake enough to realize that he was floating head down in the room. At least, he would be head down if there were any gravity to create a `down,' but if that were so he wouldn't be floating . . . Determinedly, he pulled his thoughts together. Qui-Gon had retrieved a cloak from the closet and was tucking it around both of them. It was just big enough to fit, if they snuggled close.

"Wha timesit?"

"Around the beginning of ship's night, I believe."

Obi-Wan tried to translate that into some understanding of how long they had been occupied, but all the conversions between systems eluded him at the moment. Somewhere between four and eight hours, he decided. "How d'you feel?" he asked, almost coherently.

Qui-Gon's smile was brilliant, even with half of it covered up. "I feel wonderful, actually. Ready to wrestle a Gundark, as they say."

"Your face?" Obi-Wan's hand drifted up without conscious volition.

"It should be all right, if not perfect. I lost track somewhat during all those repairs. Have a look."

Obi-Wan's fingers curled tentatively around the edge of the dressing, and Qui-Gon jerked his head back sharply to pull the covering free.

"Oh . . ." Obi-Wan reached out to brush across the perfect brow and down the smooth cheekbone. 

Qui-Gon blinked rapidly in the room's harsh light, his left pupil quickly shrinking to a pinpoint.

"You can see?" Obi-Wan asked, his fingertip just barely grazing the lower rank of eyelashes.

"It's . . . blurred, but adequate," Qui-Gon said. "I can compensate until we return to the Temple and let the healers have a look at it."

The skin was still pink where the worst of the wounds had been on Qui-Gon's forehead and cheek, but they looked more like minor scrapes a few weeks old than recent injuries that might have cost the master his life or vision. They would finish healing in a few days and leave no scar. Obi-Wan gazed in delight, drinking in the sight of his master's intact face and working eye. It was over a minute before he noticed anything off. "Oh. Your nose."

"I left that until the last. Did I mess it up?" Qui-Gon reached out delicately through the bond that still connected them, asking to share Obi-Wan's vision.

Without a second thought, the padawan opened his senses at once. "It looks like you over-corrected. It was bent to the left before, and now it goes a little to the right. My right, that is -- your left." He pressed a finger over the bump in the bone.

Qui-Gon considered. "Well, it's not so terribly asymmetrical. I think the Bristeen can bear it without offense."

"I think it adds a certain something, actually." Obi-Wan cocked his head.

"I've had my nose broken and straightened before. Perhaps I should leave it this time?"

"That's up to you, Master. It's your nose." 

"You seemed to have quite a strong opinion about whether or not I should keep my eye," Qui-Gon pointed out with amusement.

"Well, that's different."

"Is it?"

"Very different." Obi-Wan frowned. "You missed a bit on your jaw, here." He traced a slight divot below his master's ear.

"There was a bone fragment missing." Qui-Gon accessed his padawan's vision once more. "A beard would cover it. With a little effort, I can grow one before we reach Bristeetst."

"Oh, yes." Obi-Wan brightened. "I've always thought you would look good with a beard. Dignified. And you should grow your hair longer."

"I thought you had no opinion on what I should do about my appearance?"

"I didn't say that, Master. You did." Obi-Wan fought back a yawn. "How is your chest?" He started to stroke his palm down his master's ribs, then hesitated, thinking the intimacy might be unwelcome.

"Completely healed." Qui-Gon pulled the younger man a little closer into his embrace.

"Good." Obi-Wan's eyelids were drooping. 

"Your idea was a great success, Padawan."

"Mmm. I knew it would be." Obi-Wan pulled the cloak a little tighter around himself and let his eyes drift closed. "Someone should tell the captain she can turn the gravity back on." 

"Are you all right, Obi-Wan?"

"Mm-hmm. Just tired."

A hand brushed over his short hair. "You gave me too much -- you've drained yourself."

Hearing the worried tone, Obi-Wan forced his eyes open. "I'll be fine, Master, really. I just need rest." Another yawn overcame him, punctuating his words.

"Sleep, then. I'll talk to the captain."

Dimly, Obi-Wan felt himself being guided to the open bunk and loosely confined by its tie-downs. Then he sank into an oblivion so deep he never even felt the gravity returning.

 

With so little Force to draw upon, it took Obi-Wan several days to regain his energy levels. He slept a lot, causing his master some concern, and he had to explain several times that he was quite certain there was no permanent damage. He thought briefly about suggesting to Qui-Gon that he would recover more quickly if they generated some Force together, but he couldn't bring himself to be quite so brazen. He was too weary to try the solo method, either; instead, he merely dragged himself out of the cabin a few times to accept greetings and congratulations on Qui-Gon's recovery from the captain, the crew, and the medical droid. Then he went back and curled up for another rest.

It was rather pleasant, really, having his master fuss over him when he wasn't truly ill or hurt. The food was especially nice; with the help of Eriskiett, Qui-Gon managed to track down a number of human delicacies various members of the crew had been saving up. Ordinarily, since the Bristeen knew that humans _could_ survive on their food, they expected that the Jedi passengers _would_ eat whatever the rest of the crew had. But the avians had deep sympathy for an invalid's appetite, and many of them willingly donated their hoarded sweets and flavored drinks to appease Obi-Wan's tastebuds. He was tempted to feign weakness until they reached Borritt, and see if Qui-Gon could find a nice juicy slab of meat somewhere on the refueling station. But boredom proved a more powerful spur, and Obi-Wan was out of bed and exercising more than a day before their return to normal space.

Borritt was a bloated gas giant planet orbiting a dull red star, attended by a series of space stations and refineries. With no habitable planets in the system, the gas giant's store of unusually pure hydrogen was the only thing the place had to recommend itself, and the local industry revolved around harvesting, refining, and selling fuel. The star was cool enough that Borritt's wide orbit kept it well outside the melting point for water ice -- except when the star gave off one of its unpredictable, energetic flares. The flares posed little danger to any ship or station that was properly shielded, but Captain Ctecteru was worried about her ship's two-kilometer tail of ice chunks. She decided to park the freighter in a position that kept them in the planet's shadow in case the star should start to act up, even though it meant paying extra to have their fuel ferried from the refineries.

Fortunately, they had made it in time to keep their place in the fuel queue. Most of the other ships waiting a turn were parked in orbits closer to the refineries, and the ice freighter ended up floating alone in shadow.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were on the bridge as they entered the system, studying charts over the captain's shoulders. Obi-Wan spared a moment to look quickly at his master, keeping his amusement hidden. With his beard just starting to come in, Qui-Gon was looking unusually scruffy. Even Eriskiett had been moved to make a joke about moulting and downfeathers.

"Wasn't one of the other ice freighters attacked right here at Borritt?" Qui-Gon asked the captain.

"That's right," the captain whistled. "They lost nearly half their cargo in a single raid."

Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the charts. "Was that ship also parked on the outside of the planet?"

"Most likely. It's standard practice when bringing an ice cargo in so close to a variable star."

"Perhaps it would be safer to move closer to the other ships," Qui-Gon suggested. "The security forces from the stations will take some time to get here if we're attacked."

"They'll take long enough that we could risk losing a large fraction of our cargo, true. But if that star flares without warning and we have no protection, we could lose the _entire_ cargo." The captain's feathered hands moved over the console, calling up records of the star's activity over the past few years. "I think staying here is a smaller risk."

Obi-Wan caught his master's eyes. "Could we get some of the security forces out here as a prevention measure?"

Just then, an alarm went off on the main control console. "Too late," the pilot whistled shrilly. "Raiders heading in from outsystem. They'll be here in five minutes."


	21. Chapter 21

_Not again!_ Obi-Wan thought in dismay, unable to resist a quick glance at his master. They had barely recovered from the results of the last pirate attack, and now they had to face another.

Then he steadied himself, reaching out to the Force for confidence. Obi-Wan Kenobi had never turned from a fight in his life, and he wasn't about to start now.

Qui-Gon was leaning calmly toward the console by the pilot's elbow. "What approach are they taking?"

The pilot's hands flew, and the attacking ships appeared on the display with red trails to show where they had come from. "They're heading for the cargo, staying well back from the freighter's guns."

The freighter's weapons weren't much to boast about in any case, Obi-Wan recalled. The Gamorreans had certainly had no trouble avoiding them. He studied the weapons controls, which were part of Eriskiett's station.

"These ones won't be trying to board," the captain clacked. "They'll cut away as much of the cargo as they can and tow it off outsystem. They must have a ship waiting out there."

Qui-Gon turned to her. "Contact system control and request fighter backup."

"It will take them nearly an hour to get here. Half our cargo could be gone by that time." Nevertheless, the captain activated the comm.

"There!" Obi-Wan pointed to the display, and Eriskiett saw the opening he was referring to. She swiveled the ship's guns as quickly as they would move, but the attacking fighter dodged back into their blind spot before the blast seared through space.

Obi-Wan stepped back in frustration. "This is no good," he said. "We can't counter them unless we get a ship out there --" He froze. "That's it! Eriskiett, come with us. Captain, prepare to open Cargo Bay Seven to space." He hurried for the bridge doors.

Qui-Gon had frowned at the young man's peremptory tone, but he followed along with no more invitation than a single look from Obi-Wan. "What do you have in mind?" he asked as they strode quickly through the ship's corridors.

"We took a Kestrel starfighter from that first batch of pirates," Obi-Wan explained quickly. "It's a bit battered, but it should suffice. I'll fly it if you man the guns."

"Surely one of the Bristeen pilots --"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "The cockpit was altered by the Gamorreans. You and I are the only ones tall enough to reach the controls." He kept up his bounding low-gravity walk, waiting to see if his master would demur. Flying and fighting with energy weapons were not specialties of Qui-Gon's, but he was competent at either task. And the competence of a Jedi was far beyond the normal capabilities of the Force-blind.

Hearing no objection, Obi-Wan turned to Eriskiett, who was having trouble keeping up with their longer strides. "What repairs have you made since the last time I saw the Kestrel?"

"None!" she whistled breathlessly. "You can't use it, Obi-Wan -- it won't work!"

He scowled. "I thought the propulsion and weapons were fine." 

"But there are no working sensors!"

"We don't need sensors," Obi-Wan said.

"The Force will guide us," Qui-Gon explained at the same moment.

"You can't wear the helmets -- no targeting computers --"

"We _certainly_ don't need targeting computers," Obi-Wan returned with a small grin.

"No shields!"

Obi-Wan paused at the cargo bay door, his hand on the control. He glanced at his master, who nodded.

"We shall be careful," was all Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan opened the door and headed for the small fighter, hastily releasing tie-downs.

"We have no compatible astrodroids --" Eriskiett began.

"We can do without," said Qui-Gon.

"And the communications don't work!" she gasped.

Qui-Gon smiled at her. "In that case, I'd appreciate it if you let the security forces know we're not pirates." He stepped up onto the fighter's wing one step behind Obi-Wan and swung himself down into the rear-facing seat. "Clear the cargo bay and tell the captain we're ready for space," he called out a moment before sealing the hatch.

Obi-Wan hurriedly strapped himself in and bit back a curse when he found that the restraints wouldn't tighten around a slender human body. Then he discovered he had to loosen them even further so that he could slide forward to reach the foot controls. The seat position was not adjustable. A frustrated hiss trickled through his lips.

"Stop worrying about what we don't have, Padawan, and work with what we do have." Qui-Gon was adjusting his own straps, which were slightly better but still loose.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan glanced quickly around the cockpit, thinking. Since the seat was so low, the view-bubble began somewhat above his eye level, and that was the only window he would have to let him _see_ what was going on. Everything else, he would have to sense with the Force. With no helmets and inadequate restraints, he'd have to take care which way he pitched the ship, or they might crack their heads on the ceiling. He would have to avoid making any outside loops.

He activated the controls and brought up the engines. "Fuel batteries at full capacity," he noted out loud. The Bristeen might not have intended to use this fighter, or even to repair it anytime soon, but they had taken good care of it anyway.

"Weapons charged at ninety-eight percent," Qui-Gon reported.

"Seals check out. Internal atmosphere control is up. Is the bay clear?"

"Yes. The outer doors are opening now."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and reached out for the Force. He would have to fly almost on pure instinct. He could feel the Force flowing smoothly through his master, as well, and he knew the two of them must work perfectly in tandem with each other.

Whatever Eriskiett had said to the captain must have conveyed some urgency, for the force field that kept air in the bay hadn't even reached full strength when the huge doors parted. The Kestrel shot out of the ship amid a plume of ice crystals as humid ship's air leaked into the chill of space. Obi-Wan banked the small craft along the freighter's flank, heading aft towards the ice cargo.

One of the unique features of the Kestrel-8F line was the rotating gun turret on the belly which allowed it to fire in any direction. The setup was unusual on a small fighter for two reasons: it was more difficult to aim accurately for shots at right angles to the fighter's path, and shots to the rear would be reduced in energy because they were working against the fighter's own speed instead of with it. Neither of those facts were of great concern to a Jedi gunner, and Qui-Gon's first move was to release the optional locks which kept the turret pointed within a few degrees of the fighter's direction of motion.

From what they had seen of the scans on the bridge, the attacking force consisted of five J2X snub-fighters, a model that included shields, dual energy weapons, and torpedoes. The single-pilot fighters were smaller than the Kestrel but slightly less maneuverable. As the first pirate came into Obi-Wan's line of sight, he saw that it had apparently been equipped with light-explosive torpedoes. The fighter released a double shot into one of the ice chunks right at the point where a carbifiber cable had been planted to fasten several blocks of ice together. The tough cable remained intact, but it was blown from its mooring in the ice.

Obi-Wan flashed quickly past the attacking fighter, and before the pirate even had a chance to register the Kestrel's presence, Qui-Gon fired. His two shots, traveling to the Kestrel's rear quarter, were sapped of some of their energy and had no chance of destroying the shielded snub-fighter. But destruction hadn't been Qui-Gon's intent. With exquisite aim, his first shot took out the fighter's shield generator while the second blew an engine power coupling. Disabled, the fighter drifted uselessly in space as Obi-Wan drew a spiral around the long chain of ice chunks.

Other fighters had already detached many of the cargo cables, and the end of the freighter's ice tail was beginning to come apart. At the very rear of the chain, Obi-Wan detected a fighter releasing jet-droids into some of the largest chunks. This time he didn't need his eyes; he could clearly sense the pilot's actions through the Force. The simpleminded machines would clamp onto the ice and start accelerating on some pre-programmed course, presumably back to the ship that had sent the fighters in-system.

Obi-Wan plotted a weaving course toward the fighter which took them past three sections of ice that were already under droid acceleration. Qui-Gon destroyed each of the droids neatly as they passed, vaporizing as little ice as possible in the process. Obi-Wan realized his master wasn't using vision either, and in fact probably had his eyes closed. Obi-Wan waited the necessary microseconds for the weapons to rearm, then angled the Kestrel upward to scream past within meters of the fighter. Qui-Gon's delicate touch disabled the second one as easily as the first.

But now the others had been alerted to the danger. They stopped trying to carve pieces off the ice cargo and converged on the Kestrel instead. Obi-Wan jinked hastily as double beams lit the space just off his right wing.

"Two of them," Qui-Gon murmured, as another pulled in on their tail.

And both fighters were apparently familiar with the weakness of the Kestrel model; they were staying behind and slightly above Obi-Wan's path, so that the belly-mounted guns couldn't reach them. Ordinarily, Obi-Wan could have solved that by swooping downward into an outside loop, but he couldn't afford to pull that kind of acceleration with their restraints loose. An inside loop would push him and Qui-Gon down safely into their seats, but it would also put their attackers higher above the Kestrel's plane of orientation.

He solved the problem by killing their propulsion, flipping the ship over using just the attitude thrusters, and reigniting the engines in the opposite direction. For a moment they were a sitting target, but their pursuers hadn't expected such a move and missed the opportunity to burn into the unshielded ship. In the next instant, the Kestrel zipped back on its new vector between the two pirates, and Qui-Gon took out one of the fighters' stabilizers as they passed. The fighter went off in an uncontrolled spin towards the giant planet.

The second pirate was more fortunate, or quicker on the uptake. He made a tight arc to the side that quickly took him out of the Kestrel's range of fire, and then returned to position on their tail. For a moment Qui-Gon was able to get off a shot, but the weakened beam was easily deflected by the pirate's shield.

Obi-Wan smiled as he felt the Force guiding his hands. He weaved and bobbed drunkenly to avoid the snub-fighter's beams, all the while letting their vector carry them back toward the freighter. He led their pursuer on a twisting path around the ice until, quite suddenly, the first disabled fighter came into view. With no propulsion and no shields, the pirate had been forced to sit there in space waiting for the security forces to arrive and pick her up. But her weapons were still functional, and the Kestrel appeared directly in her line of fire, presenting an irresistible target. Just as the pirate fired, Obi-Wan twisted his ship to one side. The twin blasts slid over his wing and lanced into the pirate that had been steadily gaining behind him.

The second pirate jinked and lost his speed advantage, but apparently his shields had absorbed most of the energy of the shots. Scored by the blasts, but still functional, he pulled into place once more above the Kestrel's tail.

"He's good," Qui-Gon admitted.

"I'm better," said Obi-Wan with confidence, bringing the Kestrel into a tight loop that carried them back towards the end of the long chain of ice. He waited until they reached the middle of the cargo, where enough of the cables had been broken that the chunks were just starting to drift apart. Then he turned the Kestrel _into_ the crowd of wandering ice chunks.

It was like flying through a dense asteroid field, except that the obstacles were a million times more closely spaced. Obi-Wan glided over and around huge blocks of ice that could crush the little Kestrel in an instant, and he made it look so easy that the pirate took the bait and followed him in. The snub-fighter was smaller than the Kestrel, after all, and should be able to go anywhere the other craft could.

Except that the Kestrel was piloted by a Jedi. Obi-Wan guided it smoothly between two ice fortresses that were drifting closer together. He rolled the little ship to squeeze through the opening at the last possible moment, hearing a scraping sound from the hull just as he pulled clear. The pirate wasn't so adept, however, and all that marked his passing was a fireball bursting from between the converging slabs of ice.

The Kestrel emerged from the ice field a short distance from the fifth and last pirate fighter, who had seen all of his companions disabled or killed within the space of a few minutes. As soon as Obi-Wan started to line up on the pirate, he turned and headed away from the freighter at maximum acceleration. Obi-Wan followed along, keeping just outsystem of the pirate and herding him to one side. A single careful shot from Qui-Gon took out the fighter's shields, and then Obi-Wan eased the Kestrel back, letting the pirate think he was escaping.

"If system security can't apprehend a single pirate with no shields, they should probably consider new careers," Obi-Wan reflected as he watched the last pirate zooming off in the very direction their reinforcements should be arriving from.

"Back to the freighter," Qui-Gon said drily.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan retraced their path, detouring a little to pass by the two disabled pirates so that Qui-Gon could stop their weapons with a few surgically-placed shots. "They'll have to hire some tugs to retrieve all that ice and plant new cables."

"With a little persuasion, I'm sure system security will be willing to pay for it," Qui-Gon promised.

Obi-Wan chuckled and aimed the Kestrel toward the freighter's open cargo bay doors.

It wasn't until the cargo bay was secure again and they were climbing out of the modified cockpit that Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon. "I hope I wasn't too forward back there, Master. I didn't mean to give you orders."

Qui-Gon paused with one foot on the wing, eyebrows rising. "That's all right, Padawan. You had information that I didn't. You were quite right to take action before it was too late. I would have taken over if it seemed necessary, but it wasn't."

Obi-Wan smiled, climbing down behind his master. "I thought that went rather well," he said. 

Qui-Gon nodded, leading the way across the cargo bay. "We worked very smoothly together. You're getting quite good at teamwork, Padawan."

"Do you think it was the sex?" Obi-Wan suggested cheerfully.

Qui-Gon's step faltered. "Let's . . . go speak to the captain about how this is going to affect her schedules." He didn't turn to look at his apprentice.

Obi-Wan ducked his head to hide his amusement as he followed his master through the ship.


	22. Chapter 22

Qui-Gon Jinn stood patiently on the reviewing platform behind the Askiirst of Bristeetst, watching the aerial displays that punctuated the new leader's inaugural address. Half his view was obscured by the Askiirst's enormous headdress of multicolored feathers, and Qui-Gon had to watch his step when he moved to avoid the similarly exaggerated tail of the costume. The Askiirst was primarily a figurehead leader, as the Bristeen tended to believe that males were too preoccupied with prestige and appearances for any sort of serious occupation. The Askiirst would have a cabinet of female advisors to make his decisions, and a staff of female clerks to carry them out.

Captain Ctecteru was quite unusual for a Bristeen in that she had no less than three males in functional positions on her crew. No doubt it had helped her to take Qui-Gon and his padawan seriously. Their success in staving off pirates had also earned them a great deal of respect; when raiders had started to move in during the ship's third and final refueling stop, the pilot had simply announced over the comm that there were two Jedi aboard. The thieves had retreated after remarkably little consideration, and the freighter had eventually arrived at Bristeetst with all but two percent of its original ice cargo intact.

Whatever the limitations of their role in Bristeen society, the males were certainly good at putting on an impressive show. Qui-Gon blinked as three wings of Bristeen flew overhead in wheeling formations of glittering scarlet, teal, and gold feathers. It all served as an effective distraction from the meaningless platitudes the new leader was quoting from his datapad.

The wheels burst apart into tumbling individual acrobats just as the speech finished, and Qui-Gon recognized his own cue. He stepped to the front of the platform and began to recite the Senate's official recognition of the new leader, at the same moment that Obi-Wan took to the air from the other side of the great bay. Clad in dull brown and white, the padawan's show was purely a display of skill as he swooped easily from handhold to foothold, following a spiraling path around the bay. He used the Force so subtly that even an experienced observer might think he was truly soaring and gliding from one stop to the next.

Qui-Gon timed his words carefully, but he was a little ahead of Obi-Wan as he approached the end of his speech. Warned by a quick pulse through their bond, Obi-Wan skipped the last two handholds for a prodigious leap across the space to the reviewing platform. He alit on the edge of the platform amid a flapping of robes and produced a scroll from his sleeve with a flourish. Scribed on gilt paper and wrapped in blue ribbons, the scroll was as brightly colored as any Bristeen could wish. It simply repeated the words Qui-Gon had just spoken, but it represented the approval of the Senate in a tangible form. Obi-Wan bowed deeply as he handed the scroll to the new Askiirst.

Their role in the inauguration complete, the two Jedi stepped off opposite ends of the reviewing platform at the same moment and dropped fifty meters to land lightly on the floor of the bay below. They exchanged amused glances with each other before they were surrounded by a crowd of officials whisking them off to the obligatory celebration.

It was some hours before they were free to adjourn to the sumptuous suite they had been assigned on the outer rim of the habitat, and in that time they had no chance to speak more than a few words to each other. At last Qui-Gon stood in the main room of their suite, looking up through the overarching transparisteel wall to the stars wheeling slowly past.

Qui-Gon gazed out at the glittering sky, but what he saw in his mind's eye was the face of his padawan. He had come to realize, at some point while they were grappling in the small, hot cabin, that he was in love. He had begged for a link between them, an intimacy that should never have been permitted, yet Obi-Wan had granted it willingly. In that link, Qui-Gon had felt the genuine affection in his padawan's heart and the younger man's determination to give all that was asked -- but physical sensation had overwhelmed him before he could find out if it was truly love that Obi-Wan felt, love to match Qui-Gon's own. Now their bond had returned to normal, and Qui-Gon could only be sure of his own feelings, which were stronger than he had ever suspected.

A whisper of foreboding told him that this was the last love of his life -- but did that mean long love, or short life? In either case, it couldn't be ethical to tie Obi-Wan to him with promises when the young man still had so much to learn about himself and the world around him. Over the last few years, he had watched Obi-Wan discovering sex and love and all the wonders of adulthood along with his friends. Qui-Gon could never wish to stifle such a learning process; indeed, he was conscious that Obi-Wan's discoveries were responsible for saving his eye. Yet, having decided to make no promises, still he found himself greedily wondering how much he could have _without_ promises. What were the ethics of such a desire?

He started from his reflections as the main door to the suite opened. Turning partly away from the door, he firmed his mental shields and made a show of staring out at the night.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Obi-Wan said, coming to stand next to him.

Qui-Gon glanced at his padawan over his glass of water -- pure water, which was a luxury here. "I believe it's meant to be."

Obi-Wan pulled off his cloak and tossed it over an expensive chair, then paused as he saw the datapad lying nearby with its light blinking. "A message?"

"From the Council." Qui-Gon sipped at his water.

"Already? We've scarcely finished this mission."

"But we _have_ finished."

"We should be returning to the Temple so the healers can see to your eye."

Qui-Gon smiled, half-closing his left eye so that he could see the indignant expression on his padawan's face without blurring. "The healers at the Temple on Yavin will do as well, no doubt."

"Yavin?"

"That is where our next assignment will take us."

Obi-Wan scowled, clearly tempted to pick up the datapad and read the message for himself, but too polite to do so. "They have their own Jedi. What do they need us for?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "Aside from the fact that the Jedi on Yavin are primarily philosophers, it seems the dispute we are to mediate involves the Temple itself. They wish to bring in impartial negotiators."

"Oh." Obi-Wan sighed. "Well, at least on Yavin I can get a _bath_." He wormed a hand inside his tunic to scratch at his chest.

"Certainly, there's plenty of water there." Qui-Gon watched that hand enviously. 

Obi-Wan looked up with a suspicious frown. "We don't have to travel on another freighter, do we?"

"No, there will be a diplomatic courier ship here to pick us up the day after tomorrow."

Obi-Wan blinked. "So we do get some rest. Good."

"Why so insistent that we should rest, Padawan? The last two weeks have hardly been strenuous."

"You were _wounded_ , Master."

"Ah. But I have been healed -- very effectively so." Qui-Gon settled in one of the soft chairs and leaned back at his ease. "I was impressed with your method of Force generation. You must have done quite a bit of research to reach that level of proficiency."

Obi-Wan started to say something, discarded it, and merely said, "Thank you, Master."

"No doubt the Council will find it interesting as well."

Obi-Wan stiffened. "The Council?"

"Of course. They need to know about any new technique that might be useful to other Jedi."

"But, Master, this particular technique . . . it's rather personal, isn't it?"

"It has a wider range of applications than you may realize, Padawan. Didn't you find it invaluable on Arawoon?"

"Well, yes, Master, but . . ."

"But?"

"Won't you be in trouble with the Council for, for . . . initiating a sexual relationship with your padawan?"

"Oh, but I didn't initiate it. It was all your idea, Obi-Wan. And you are an adult. I don't see why the Council should have any objection." Qui-Gon waited to see what effect his words would have.

Obi-Wan stood very still, staring at him. "I'm an adult," he repeated.

"You certainly are."

The padawan took two steps closer to Qui-Gon's chair. "And if it's my idea, there should be no problem," he prompted.

"I don't expect the Council to see any problem, no."

Two more steps. "What about you, Master? Do you see a problem with an adult padawan initiating a relationship with his master?"

Qui-Gon swallowed, his eyes tracing the gleam of golden light across the younger man's cheek and neck. "So long as there are no misunderstandings, no misguided attempts to enforce a commitment . . . then, no."

Obi-Wan came to a stop with his knees just between Qui-Gon's sprawled thighs. "No commitment," he said slowly. "Just a contract to seek mutual pleasure between two consenting adults."

Qui-Gon nodded, his throat too dry to speak.

A sweet smile spread across Obi-Wan's face. "How convenient," he breathed.

Qui-Gon tried to moisten his lips. "Convenient?"

"I've been wondering what it would be like to kiss you with your lips working properly. Now I can find out." And the padawan bent down, his hands coming to rest on Qui-Gon's shoulders as he brushed their lips together, then flicked out his tongue for a brief taste, then dove in wholeheartedly to a melding of mouths.

Qui-Gon found himself with his arms and lap full of eager young man as Obi-Wan climbed up to straddle him on the chair.

"Mmm," the padawan murmured, releasing the kiss at last. "I knew the beard would be nice."

"I thought you said it would look dignified?"

"And feel wonderful, too." Obi-Wan stropped his cheek back and forth against his master's jaw. "I never got a chance to taste you properly, before. Or touch . . ." He delved into Qui-Gon's tunic, fingers tracing lines of fire across the older man's collarbone and ribs.

Gasping, Qui-Gon caught at those roving hands. "Obi-Wan," he warned.

"Hmm?" With his hands trapped, Obi-Wan simply used his mouth to best advantage, nuzzling at his master's throat.

"Not here. I have a perfectly good bed in the other room."

Obi-Wan sat back a little, his warm thighs coming to rest atop Qui-Gon's knees. "You have an _enormous_ bed in the other room," he corrected happily. "What a lovely idea! Come on." With one smooth move, he was on his feet and pulling Qui-Gon after him toward the bedroom.

Qui-Gon followed obediently, allowing himself a single wistful glance at the back of the younger man's head. Obi-Wan was so eager, so generous with his affections! Had he been as warm with all those other partners? Had they taught him that easy sensuality, that instant willingness to touch and kiss? What would Obi-Wan say if he knew that Qui-Gon longed to capture his heart, to bind and hold him forever?

 _No promises, no commitments,_ the master reminded himself firmly as he followed his padawan to bed. He would take what he could get, live in the joy of the moment and school his heart to ask for nothing more. It would be enough.

For now.


End file.
